Valencian Empire: El Dorado
by KnightGuardianThanatos
Summary: It has been a year since the annihilation of Skull Island, since Adrian Devereaux and Atticus Mercilus evaded the hand of the Supreme Commander Ulysses. But is it all over? No, definitely not. The Armada is yet to claim El Dorado, and Ulysses his revenge, but little does anyone realize, this storm is only beginning... Book three to Ulysses' three part saga.
1. Chapter 1

A year had passed.

 _Such a cruel immortal you are, Time, speeding by when one wishes for you to slow down, and then inching by with an old man's cane when one becomes stricken with grief._

One pale, flawless finger, or so it seemed, traced the railing of the balcony he was standing upon, the wind rustling through his ankle length Commander's coat and the feather pinned to his golden brimmed black tricorne hat.

Even now, it _hurt_ , it ached within his heart, thinking back upon that dreadful day of his most _abysmal_ failure.

His left hand tightened around the railing, the memories threatening to return before his very eyes until he forced them back -

 _"It is in your... hands now... Supreme Commander."_

 _The clockwork king's sword slipped from his hand, clattering onto the floor of the throne room. His body stilled, and life fled from those once powerful hands that had protected, defended all of Valencia, the whole Spiral from the tyranny of the mad Napoleguin -_

"Supreme Commander."

The black clad figure spun around, moonlight reflecting from his mask covered appearance, to face the slim figure of the female Royal Guard captain behind him, still half concealed in the shadows cast by the walls of the fortress; a sliver of light reflecting from the halberd she leaned most of her weight upon.

"What is it, Captain Quintia?"

His voice came out monotonic, just as clipped as anyone would expect from a clockwork.

 _How ironic that I must use a voice that is not even mine, even though I command the entire Valencian Armada._

"Your elite court is asking for your presence, Supreme Commander, it would be beneficial if you can answer to their request."

 _How_ could he have forgotten the fact they still had some of the more major objectives to tend to? That he had called for this meeting personally to discuss about those?

Without another word, the Supreme Commander swept through the double doors leading into Cadiz from the balcony he had stood on for the previous hour, passing by Quintia on his way to the war council chamber.

As he walked down the hallways, he found himself stopping by an old door that looked like it had not been dusted off for some time; raising a single hand to wipe the dust off the brass plaque that might have been once polished to a steely shine mounted on the door.

 _Admiral U. Septimus_.

No one would have been able to see the twitch of his lips behind his mask, though it was certainly there.

Everything had changed so fast in the course of the last two years.

Turning away and continuing his walk down the hallway, with several of the patrolling clockworks he had passed by saluting him in acknowledge of his position, it still felt as though it was only _yesterday_ he sat in that office, nursing a glass of Valencian wine before the alarm of intruders within the fortress sounded.

The memories following made Ulysses Septimus' gloved hands tighten into fists, trembling at his side for a brief second, before the Supreme Commander swiftly corrected them; continuing on and halting only enough in front of the doors leading into the war council chamber for the two Royal Guards posted there to fling them wide open.

"Supreme Commander."

All five of the elites - Rooke, Bishop, Deacon, Phule, and Cristobal - rose in perfect synchronization, their right arms snapping into the classic Armada salute at their leader.

Ulysses was silent, though he did nod once to acknowledge them, taking his throne at the head of the table: surveying the many maps laid out before him.

"Have a seat: I trust that each of you know why I have summoned your presence here?"

The silent answer of "affirmative" could be _felt_ in the very air of the chamber.

"General Rooke." The Titan clockwork immediately stiffened, the way _any_ of the Armada should when spoken to by the Supreme Commander.

"How goes everything with the rebels of Marleybone?"

Marleybone was annexed into the Valencian Empire just a little more than a year ago, when they faced their defeat in the hands of the clockworks and Assassin forces; signing a peace treaty with Valencia, agreeing to submit and become a part of her Empire and give tribute yearly in exchange for peace, after the display of power shown by the titan battlecruiser the _Empire_.

Despite that, however, there were still a few radical groups within that world, perhaps two out of every twenty citizens, calling for the liberation of their world from Valencian rule.

Naturally, such rebellions had to be properly _crushed_ , something which Ulysses found himself confident of entrusting to his warlord, whose lust for battle seemed to be _insatiable_.

"They have been driven back onto their last bastion of defense, Your Majesty."

Rooke's voice had an air of _pride_ to it, as though _he_ was the one that had accomplished such. Septimus supposed he could say so, in a way; raising his left hand in a lazy signal for him to continue.

"Three of their elite warriors have perished in combat, leaving two leaders remaining: if I may be granted three to six more months, I assure you, Your Majesty, they will be completely _decimated_."

Internally, the newly named Supreme Commander of the Armada winced. While he would have no doubt flown into a _rage_ at anyone else showing insolence, Rooke's not - exactly - concealed sour tone, no doubt a reaction to Ulysses' lack of acknowledgement at his accomplishments, felt more like a knife stabbed right into his heart ( _if_ any fragments of his heart still remained).

It reminded him, in _everyway_ , how he was nothing but a weak _impersonator_ of Kane himself. It reminded him it was _his_ fault that his god was dead.

"Permission granted."

Thankfully, his voice came out _organized_ and powerful due to the microscopic vocalizer attached to his mask.

Ulysses turned his attention away from Rooke, to the spymaster Deacon, so far the _only_ elite aside from his mentor Cristobal who actually respected him.

"Any reports from Secundus, spymaster?"

"None yet, Your Majesty, Secundus has maintained only minimal communication as of late, though his latest report is… _interesting_ , to say the least."

Behind his mask, Septimus arched a singular eyebrow as Deacon producing a single sheet of parchment from the folds of his coat and sliding it across the table to him.

Although Secundus' writing was normally very organized and legible, the writing upon this particular report was a furious scribble, the works of someone fearing of a chance of being discovered of writing down some horrendous secret that could potentially threaten their lives.

 _An excerpt? How strange_...

Even though the Latin was scribbled and the grammar was atrocious, Ulysses could dicipher it to be a excerpt out of the story of Hawkules of Aquila; his quest to destroy the Hydra, to be more precise -

 _Hawkules had then spoken to his valiant cousin of how they should lure the snake out of hiding, Iolaus spoke nothing and simple took a torch, sending smoke into the cave of the great red serpent, forcing the scarlet snake to come out of hiding and face the mighty hero_.

Something stirred within Septimus upon finishing reading the report, something he had long forgotten to keep under a lock and now slept upon the ruins of its previous prison.

 _What else could the scarlet snake be but the Templars? Iolaus is Secundus, and Hawkules represents myself, for what other is the mark of the Order but an eagle_?!

"I see..."

Ulysses slid the parchment back to the Royal Spymaster, Deacon folding it up and tucking it into his coat.

"Now onto the next topic, our conquest of the Spiral."

A holographic map was immediately projected from the massive table, all of the known worlds displayed upon it: Krokotopia, Marleybone, Aquila, Skull Island, Darkmoor, Cool Ranch, Polaris, and so forth.

Marleybone was already marked with the symbol of Valencia, and the mark of the Valencian Assassin Order, symbolizing their status as a vessel world of the Valencian Empire; Cool Ranch remained unmarked, unclaimed, just like Aquila, but that would soon change, yes; Skull Island remains nothing more than a smoldering ruin, a ghost town of what it once was; Krokotopia bore a single grey question mark, just like Darkmoor and Grizzleheim.

"I do believe our next, and optimal, target would be _here_."

A single finger jabbed at the hologram of the world of Aquila.

"For reasons as the following: the Aquilan ruler is nothing short of a weak minded fool. Take control of him, and the whole world comes under Valencian rulership. There is also the likely possibility of them throwing themselves into our hands, if our forces are to aide them in defeating their enemies, the Serpents of Illios."

"With your permission, Supreme Commander,"

Bishop had spoken next, shifting his staff from one hand to the other.

" _What_ makes you so certain they would bow down to us, once the emperor comes under our hands?"

The Armada engineer's words were sharp, yes, though they fell quite short of the target when compared to Rooke's, for some reason. They may have followed through with the previous Supreme Commander's orders to obey Ulysses' commands, they did not refrain from making stinging remarks, be it directly or indirectly, before him.

For a rather unnerving second, Ulysses found himself _devoid_ of words, unable to reply to Bishop's.

"The Aquilans hold their emperor as a god, so they will follow his wishes unconditionally. They may not be as obedient to him now, _but_ if he is to deliver exactly what the crowd wanted, give them what they thought he could not do..."

Ulysses permitted his voice to trail off there.

"All while we hold him up like the _puppet_ he is, such is a very crafty plan, Supreme Commander."

Cristobal had remarked with a silver of a smile beneath his thick, but well groomed, rust - colored beard, flipping the drafting compass around in his fingers with expertise practiced from boredom grown from when he was crafting weapons.

"It shall be put in motion immediately, Commander, I shall send a missionary to Aquila first matter tomorrow morning."

" _Grazie_ for your prompt response, Spymaster, such would be a wise decision."

"And I shall contact the Neo - Aquilan branch, they should be more than happy to aide us in this, and orchestrating the defeat of the Serpents."

Cristobal had only added his piece once Deacon finished speaking, Ulysses met the eyes of his mentor in a silent indication he was thankful for his effort. For much like Ezio (just thinking of his brother's name made his heart wrench within his chest cavity, Ulysses's fingers curling around the armrests of his throne) was able to, Cristobal Auditore seemed to have the power to understand whatever thought or word is on Septimus' mind, even without the younger Assassin speaking first.

 _How much longer will we have to wait until our empire is completely built? How much longer until those two bastards be running out of their hiding places like animals driven from a burning forest_?

And finally -

 _How much longer will we wait until El Dorado becomes property of the Armada_?

As long as this period of time would be, Ulysses Septimus had not forgotten his quest, the original mission his master and god had given him before he was brutally murdered by his two enemies. But before he dealt with their blood, there was something else...

"General Rooke."

The tension within the titan clockwork's massive frame was easily seen, his head turning toward him with a subtle click of the gears in his neck in a silent _yes, Commander?_

"You have permission to take the control of any and all battles we may engage with the Serpents."

As much as Rooke may have opposed him indirectly, Ulysses found it almost amusing that just _one_ mention of the possibility of war and spilling blood would have gotten the clockwork knight riled up like a child promised their favorite treat. He had played his card right, he was certain of it.

Ulysses allowed his eyes to scan over the war council chamber once more.

"Meeting adjourned."

Silently, each of the elites rose from their seats and exited, Rooke first, with Phule cackling by his side in the fashion of a demented shadow, Bishop following suit with Cristobal being the last to exit.

Ulysses found himself remaining seated on his throne, the chair Kane himself had once sat in. He had chosen not to focus on the only elite that had not yet left, though it certainly was difficult to ignore the piercing gaze of the Armada spymaster upon him.

"Has any information been recovered regarding our top two foes, spymaster?"

 _I cannot trust any other of them to realize the importance of this matter, save for Deacon himself. He knows all of my reasoning as well as mentor does_...

"Negative, Supreme Commander."

As per usual, Deacon's words were short, clipped, and official; somehow sounding louder than usual, though Septimus suspected that it was most likely due to the fact now they were the only two elites within this chamber.

"I trust I do not need to restate why I want them in my hands to be punished, or why the map hunt must continue on, _signore_ Deacon."

With one hand, Ulysses once more plucked the mask from his face, gazing upon the black visors set within the sockets for the eyes with his own crimson ones. How long had it been since he gazed upon this Spiral with his own two eyes?

"No, you do not, _messere_ Septimus."

Deacon had maintained his official voice, though his switching into the native dialect of Valencia was unmistakable. Of all the elites, Ulysses thought within his mind, the spymaster alone seemed to be the most human of them all, yet _also_ the most _inhuman_ one.

"I will _ensure_ my full effort that both Atticus Mercilus and Adrian Vries Devereaux are brought to the justice of the Armada, for what crimes they have committed in the past. A debt owed with blood must be paid with blood, after all. As for the pieces of the El Dorado map, what belongs to the Armada will eventually be the property of the Armada."

" _Grazie_ , spymaster."

"It is my duty to serve you, Supreme Commander."

Deacon placed his right hand curled into a fist, to the area directly above what would have been his heart, had he been a human.

" _Per la gloria dell'Armata_."

With that, the spymaster once more melted into the shadows, leaving the room as though he was never even there, leaving Septimus alone with his thoughts.

Now alone, Ulysses found himself mesmerized by the mask's gaze, the very same way his master, his king's gaze would pin him down on the spot he was seated at , as though it held a _physical_ weight that prevented him from flinching, or even any other action at all.

It was only then that Septimus permitted himself to feel the pain that had been building up behind the dam he had tried so hard to maintain.

His _entire_ body trembled from the agony that had been unleashed, both fresh and old.

 _Master, why...? Why must it all be so? I did not... I did not want it all to be like this-!_

Slowly, Ulysses brought the mask he had been only wearing minutes earlier, the mask modeled to resemble the previous Supreme Commander, his very god himself, up and pressed his lips to its own. He might as well have torn out his own heart with this action.

 _Guide me, my lord and master, lead me as you had in the past-!_

But the past was still the past, was it not?

The past was _irreversible_.

* * *

 **Hello all, yes, I am back again :D with the brand new story of Valencian Empire: El Dorado! I hope you all enjoyed this first chapter of the continued madness of Ulysses, and I shall have the next chapter uploaded by next Friday/Saturday (subject to change because guess who just got a summer job?). Also a big thanks to my beta reader Severina de Strango for helping me with this story, _grazie, maestro_ ^^.**

 **I do appreciate reviews: they help me write faster and better :D.**

 **Until next time my dear readers!**


	2. Chapter 2

Militus Secundus was careful, very careful, as he traveled through the blacked ruins of what was once the largest pirate haven in the Spiral. He watched every move he made as he stepped over the whitened bones of the corpses left behind from the Great Cleansing of the Supreme Commander.

Inwardly, the spy grimaced.

 _The wrath of the Supreme Commander is far more terrifying than I could have ever imagined..._

He had not been one of those daredevils who went to Valencia on that suicidal mission about a year or so ago, but what he heard from Devereaux himself when he flaunted his achievement upon his return as though he was Don Juan triumphant was plenty enough, and nothing, nothing enraged the spy more.

Although he had been looking forward to this event for quite some time already, Secundus could not say he was _prepared_ in any way for this kind of destruction brought on by the newly named Supreme Commander's wrath, and the human part of him, much to the spy's dismay, was absolutely _horrified_.

Mentally chasitising himself for allowing his pesky human half _more_ control than was _necessary_ , Secundus kicked up a cloud of ash as he climbed the stairs leading to what was once the mansion that Horace Avery called his 'palace'.

Now all that remained was the charred skeleton frame of the house, threatening to collpase at any given moment, with a grisly trophy mounted just outside the doors to remind _any_ and _all_ who might just be passing by of _what_ had once happened here -

A pike stood there, thrust in between the cracks of the stone front steps, displaying what was now a skull of a human. And vividly, Secundus recalled the event before his own two eyes.

He remembered how the Supreme Commander Ulysses charged towards the Pirate King Avery, overpowering him after the pirate managed to deal several wounds upon the Commander, decapitating the pirate on the spot before taking the pike of one of the fallen buccaneers and using that to mount up the head in front of his burning mansion.

The Armada spy remembered how he had seen the head up close and in detail through the eyes of the mask he had used to hide his face, when he marched up onto this particular area dressed in the uniform of a Armada marksman to aide in the clockworks of this conquest; perching himself from this vantage point and sniping off stragglers with little effort.

 _Their efforts are quite valiant. I might have pitied them if it was not for the fact they were of a different affiliation than I_.

Immediately, Secundus found himself regretting this thought, as he certainly did feel something akin to _sympathy_ welling up within the confines of his torso, one of the very few parts of him that was still flesh and blood after what had happened to him back in the Isle of Doom.

 _Merda, damn my accursed human side, always being so sympathetic of those I should not feel pity for_.

The spy turned his gaze away from the skull of Horace Avery's head to the ruins of the courtyard, resting one black gloved hand upon the ash covered stone railing. It was a little strange, to say the least, remembering how he had called this place a temporary residence and yet, he still felt a sense of _attachment_ to the ruins that had once been the utopia of the pirates.

Once more, Secundus cursed his human side, turning away from the sight of the courtyard and walking down the stairs once more -

For there was a reason why he came here, after all.

Militus Secundus glanced at the old, worn - out brass pocketwatch he had always carried within the left lapel pocket of his jacket, leaning his back against the railing (though he was careful to keep himself from resting the entirety of his weight on it) and gazing up at the sky. This was a game of patience and luck after all.

"Hey, hey, you there!"

 _Speak of the devil_.

Secundus straightened, his attention now focused on the black clad figure standing in the middle of the courtyard; inwardly smiling to himself upon noticing the scarlet cross embroidered into the side of the figure's large feathered hat where a Jolly Roger would have been, had the pirate faction survived being decimated by the forces of the clockwork Armada.

"I do presume you are speaking to me, good sir, as there does not appear to be any other living creature around here, minus you and I."

"Yes yes, I am talking to you."

The man grunted impatiently, though Secundus made sure to keep his face in the most neutral expression possible.

 _No need to frighten the hare before the hunter actually strikes_.

"You are that guy Joseph Davenport, aren't you? They told me that you are willing to join us and our fight against that Kane II and his mad little army of wind up toys."

"Indeed so."

The lie had rolled off Secundus' lips with absolutely no trouble, betraying no trace of the annoyance that was bubbling within him. Lying had became so much easier over the years, if it was not for the fact Secundus knew it was a lie, he himself might have actually _believed_ it!

"Come down here, the Grand Master will see you now."

Within a few strides, the spy complied, his memories flying back to two months ago when he was still in Valencia.

He had retreated to the capital city of Cadiz upon the destruction of Skull Island, and Secundus was immediately awarded with a house within the innermost folds of the city, close to the Armada headquarters, before he ran into a Templar recruiter within the city, one of the very few still around.

" _Your name?_ "

" _Joseph Davenport_."

" _You know, you look like a smart man, our Grand Master would appreciate it if you would be willing to, ah, aid us in bringing liberty back to the Spiral_."

Hence why he was here at Skull Island, having been summoned by the Templar Grand Master Atticus Mercilus himself: Adrian Devereaux had _no doubt_ escaped with him (how else would he have survived Skull Island's destruction?!), so if they are to find Mercilus, they would also find that worm of a swashbuckler.

And as a soldier of the Armada, is it not his _duty_ to see that the enemies of the clockworks receive justice for the crimes they commit?

Soundlessly, Secundus trailed the black clad Templar, each step of his creating an echo within the confines of the ancient tunnels hidden from plain view by the waterfall in front of it.

 _Clever bastards, using the most obvious of places to hide under the nose of the Supreme Commander_!

The Templar curved to the right, traveling down another hallway, the second right they had taken, holding his torch out in front of them both until a massive, intricately carved door of stone prevented them from going any further. While a normal man would have no doubt lost their bearings within these tunnels, Secundus could note _every_ single turn and path they had taken; making a mental note to report back to the Supreme Commander later.

Wailing obnoxiously, the stones slid back after the other unnamed man pulled a lever.

Beyond the doorway laid what Secundus could only describe as a throne room of sorts, with a massive golden throne embedded with gems that could have lit up half of the chamber even without torches.

He only took one look at the man seated upon the throne, then dropped his gaze before kneeling. The one glance was enough to confirm it all.

 _Atticus Mercilus_ sat upon the throne, there was no mistaking his bronze colored beard and mane of hair, or those hard black eyes resembling the pits of hell itself, set into a hardened face grooved with more battle scars than the spy could count.

"Grand Master."

"Arise."

The Grand Master Templar wore a set of black robes that resembled those often worn by the Valencian Assassins patrolling Cadiz at night, save Atticus' set had no beaked hood - with silver trimming, multiple belts around his waist carrying a pair of pistols and a bastard sword.

"It is good to see that you are not fooled by the propaganda spread by the clockwork Armada, Joseph, they fooled so many already, not many would listen to reason."

 _Such honeyed words, I must choose mine carefully, lest he realizes what my true intentions are_.

"Who does not wish to be freed of the iron fist of Supreme Commander Kane II?" It was risky, yes, but Secundus forced his eyes to meet Atticus' own, for not meeting another's gaze usually indicated of lying.

"I know I do, Grand Master, which is exactly why I joined your forces. Not to mention I do wish to be liberated of the tyranny of the Assassins: those white clad _liars_ they are, proclaiming they fight for those who cannot fend for themselves, yet they aide in the Supreme Commander's regime to slaughter the innocent inhabitants of Skull Island."

 _When in truth it is the complete opposite: it was those 'innocents' and you who aided Devereaux in assassinating the Supreme Commander, nearly overthrowing the government in Valencia_.

It would appear he played his part correctly, however -

"Exactly why I welcome you to the Brotherhood of the Knights Templar: we share similar motives, the similar hatred against those clockwork bastards and their king Kane II. Come forward, Joseph Davenport."

Secundus literally had to _force_ himself to obey Atticus' words: nothing was harder than being a soldier of the Armada and acting as though he wasn't as he dropped down to one knee before the throne of the Templar Grand Master.

"Take this ring, it shall show those others that you are one of us, one of our _brothers_."

A simple ring of silver, bearing the scarlet Templar's cross insignia laid in the hand held out to him; Secundus taking the ring and slipping onto one of his fingers. It was impossible to not notice what appears to be a massive diamond ring sitting upon one of Atticus' fingers as he took it -

"Thank you, Grand Master."

 _That ring, have I seen it before_?

Deftly slipping on the Templar ring and still keeping his head bowed, Secundus backed off.

Striding through the darkened tunnels, the Armada spy's thoughts flew back to the ring worn by the Templar Grand Master; at last remembering where he had seen something similar to it.

It appeared almost _identical_ to the Apple of Eden, the stone embedded in the ring, that was wielded by the Armada Supreme Commander.

Secundus glanced over his right shoulder, then back to the half lit tunnel before him. This was a matter that would need to be reported to the Supreme Commander _immediately_ , for if the Templars did realize what exactly they have in their hands, or if any one of them could harness its power, it would mean nothing short of _disaster_ for the Armada -

"Watch where you're going, insolent fool!"

The Armada spy had never thought before anything would be more difficult than to denounce, even for show, his _real_ alligance and his loyalty to the Supreme Commander and his commanding officer Deacon, all the way until this point when he accidentally brushed into this man of all.

 _Adrian Devereaux_.

Secundus literally had to use his flesh hand to clamp down on the wrist of his other to prevent it from reaching for one of his pistols.

 _You are the insolent fool here, Devereaux, how long did you think you could evade the hand of the Valencian Armada? And it is rather surprising you do not remember me at all, it would appear_.

"Sorry."

He only just barely pushed that word past his lips, for each syllable of it felt like a dagger's blade passing his tongue. It was his duty, as a soldier of the Armada, to see that the Armada's enemies are punished, is it not? Even if it was all part of his mission here, letting such an enemy slip by felt _wrong_.

Secundus only allowed himself a sigh of relief when he made it out of the ancient tunnels: having traced the path back out based on his memory alone. Threading his way through the ruins of Skull Island once more, the Armada spy wasted no time in returning to the Rose: there is _no_ tell when Atticus would call for him again, or if he would ever figure out who he _truly_ served.

Deftly, he pulled the hologram projector from its hiding place in the innermost coat pocket of his coat.

" _Per la gloria dell'Armata_ , Supreme Commander."

Secundus saluted the holographic image, as any good Armada soldier should. It was inevitable, however, for the spy to prevent the _shiver_ that ran down his spine upon locking eyes with the dark 'voids' of the sockets of the king of Valencia's mask.

The Supreme Commander returned his salute.

"It has been a long time, Secundus, what is it that brought you here?"

"Supreme Commander, I know of where _both_ of your enemies are hiding."

Even though it was surely _impossible_ to see the king's face hidden behind his mask, his excitement was clear in every sense, Secundus could tell.

" _Truly_...?"

"Sending coordinates right now, Commander."

"Your loyalty and service to the Armada is greatly appreciated, Secundus, I shall not forget this."

* * *

 **An oldie but a goodie trick by our favorite Armada spy, no? And who else would like to take a guess at the significance of Atticus having a ring of Eden? It will be rather important later, very important, especially when, ehehehe, Ulysses takes action against the Templar Grand Master.**

 **Also, if anyone of you wish to contact me, be it questions about VE/VL, proofreading your works or just to chat, send me a email at armadasupremecommander .**

 **Reviews do make me happy :D and yes that means you too, guests!**

 **Until next time, my dear readers.**

 **-Hades**


	3. Chapter 3

_They found them_.

Ulysses could not believe it. Such was almost _too_ good to be true, after hunting for both of those bastards for so long.

The Supreme Commander of the Armada found himself unable to move from his seat, even after the hologram of the ever - so - loyal Armada spy disappeared from view. Images danced through his mind, bloody images of his enemies being evisicrated into a million little chunks as they shrieked about in pain.

 _At last I have a chance to avenge you, master!_

Ulysses' right hand tapped once on the comm link attached to the collar of his uniform coat:

"Captain Sentus Optimus, Royal Guard Captain Quintia Presidos, report to the Supreme Commander's office immediately."

Septimus' left hand tightened around the armrest of his high backed chair. Revenge was _so close_ at hand, he could swear he could reach out and _touch it_. Such was welcome, truly, after the both of them had invaded his hands for so long, they would at last face justice.

Behind his mask, the Supreme Commander of the Armada allowed his lips to curve, widening into a Cheshire's smile.

 _You always called me a fool when compared to you, Mercilus, but it would appear that you are the fool this time_.

A rap on the doors of his office brought Septimus back into reality.

"Enter."

Rearranging the folds of his uniform, the Supreme Commander of the Armada's gaze turned from the Royal Guard captain to his lieutenant.

"Reporting here as you ordered, Supreme Commander."

Ulysses permitted his gaze to linger a single second longer on his lieutenant Sentus Optimus, locking eyes with the cyborg. He had stood by Septimus' side since nearly the very start, even longer than his first creation Servius Decimus Optimus. It was nearly _impossible_ to not know each other's thought process after so long -

"Our spy has recently informed myself of the location to both of our enemies."

While Sentus Optimus was a fully collected officer, able to keep his human half under a layer of control that Septimus could only _wish_ to have, the almost instinctive flinch of _anger_ that ran through the cyborg marine captain was _obvious_ , a little too obvious almost.

 _You still hate him, don't you? I do too, Captain, I do as well..._

"I want you both to lead a force of at least forty clockworks to Skull Island, where Devereaux and Mercilus are currently hiding. Destroy their headquarters, terminate any and all who dare to fight, and bring both of them back to me, _alive_."

Once more, the bloody images that had ran through his mind since he had heard from Secundus returned into his mental eye, causing a slight quiver to run through Septimus' form as he suppressed the excited _giggle_ that would have no doubt pushed its way out of his throat if he had not bit it back in the very last second.

"As how you command, Supreme Commander."

Some part of him nudged at him when the words spilled forth from his lips.

 _Perhaps you should not be so hasty in this, Septimus, Atticus Mercilus is not Adrian Devereaux_ -

 _Shut up_.

He could not wait any longer to attain the revenge he had awaited for so long!

Ulysses found himself walking briskly over to the only window within his study once both of the clockwork officers had left, clasping his hands behind his back as he gazed outward and into the skyways of Valencia.

As per usual, the world was battered by a heavy storm, slick sheets of rain pounding down upon all who inhabited Valencia, and the many Armada ships that patrolled her skyways; thick clouds making it difficult to tell if it was day or night. Even so, Ulysses still marveled at the beauty that was his homeworld, of her emerald skies and golden windlanes.

 _None of this would have been possible without... him_.

Both of his hands tightened into fists, tears threatening to pour forth from the corners of his eyes _again_ at the memory of the protector of Valencia, the liberator who had scattered Napoleguin's forces into pieces that would never come back together to threaten his fair homeworld or even any other part of the Spiral.

 _He offered the promise, the vision of a Golden Age, he had saved the entire Spiral-!_

Scarlet rage bubbled within Ulysses the same way lava would within a volcano. Rage against the ungrateful bastards of the Resistance, for spreading the propaganda that had branded Kane a _monster_ , for orchestrating his untimely end, pulsated through the Supreme Commander's very core.

 _How_ could they not see?! How could they not see his truth?!

 _What type of sorcery had those hoodoo loving fools cast?!_

Had he not worn his mask upon his face, the scowl that twisted his face would have been revealed for all to see.

"Grand Master General."

Ulysses whirled around to face the hologram of the Assassin projected.

"What is it that brought you here, brother?"

Even after so long, even after the bloodbath of Monteriggioni, do not get Ulysses wrong, Septimus had _not_ forgotten his identity as a Assassin of the _Brotherhood_. It was an undeniable part of him, just as he was a part of the Valencian Armada.

The image shimmered as though there was some sort of disturbance in the strength of the projector signal, rippling in the way a pond would when a pebble was tossed into it.

"We have found the location of another piece of the El Dorado map."

What a coincidence, almost as though the Fates had taken some mercy on him: both of his enemies found along with the location of the map piece, all within the time frame of merely an hour?

"Where is this map piece then?"

"Within the world of Aquila, in the hold of the King of Ithaca, Odysseus, who is currently away in the Trojan War."

Ulysses' brows furrowed behind his mask.

"Are you certain of this, _fratello mio_?"

"Absolutely so, Grand Master."

Ulysses permitted himself a chuckle.

"Well done brother, well done, _grazie_ for your aide."

Seated upon his throne, Septimus scanned over the assembled elites, all present and seated in their usual positions.

"The location of a map piece has been discovered."

Ulysses spoke with more confidence and power than he had ever spoken, since he became the Supreme Commander of the Armada; enough that it drew the attention of all of the elites present to him.

"Currently it is located within the land of Aquila, in the hands of the Ithacan king Odysseus, Odysseus who is away in the Trojan war."

Almost instantly, the Supreme Commander could notice how Rooke tensed up, not in agitation or any other emotion, but in _excitement_ , though Septimus paid that little attention after.

 _You do love blood, don't you, General Rooke? Then you shall have more soon enough, I guarantee_.

"If we provide Odysseus with aide in this war, then wouldn't he not hand the piece over without a fight?"

Ulysses paused, allowing it to sink in.

"The Serpents of Illios is no match against the superior technology of the Armada, so what chance do they stand against us, if we are to stand next to Odysseus? It would take no effort for us to destroy all of them for the eagles, and in turn, no effort to take the piece of El Dorado map."

Rooke spoke up next, the excitement nearly _palpable_ in his words.

"I take you fully intend to take a force of our soldiers into that world and join in the war, Commander?"

 _But of course, how else would victory come?_

"Precisely so: I will head this exploration personally, you and Deacon shall accompany me on this."

Rooke nodded once, settling back onto his seat; a singular promise of bloodshed could get him riled up as much as a child who was just promised the gift that they had always yearned for. Perhaps it was possible to sway the titan clockwork to his side, after all.

"Acknowledged, Commander: when shall this mission take place then?"

It was Deacon who spoke this time, shifting his hold on the walking stick he _never_ appeared without.

"I want a ship prepared by tomorrow high noon, and prepared to embark at the latest sunset."

"If I may inquire, Commander."

Bishop's rasping words were not loudly spoken, although they caught Septimus' attention nevertheless. The Supreme Commander of the Armada arched a singular eyebrow behind his mask, raising one right hand in a signal for him to continue.

" _How exactly_ do you plan to win this war for King Odysseus? And how did you come to know so much about this Lord of Ithaca?"

Ulysses' hands curled almost _instinctively_ into fists upon the armrests of his throne. He had learned of this particular eagle's name during his first stay in Aquila, when he and his _brother_ attempted to begin their own branch of Assassins -

"I have journeyed the Spiral before for quite a while, Bishop. As for _how_ I plan to go about it: my precise plan is to use our technology to blow up the walls of Troy, which is precisely what is keeping the Eagles from winning the war. Once the walls are down, what is inside the walls would be for the picking."

That was enough to quiet the lanky elite, enough for him to slink back into his seat without another word against Ulysses' plans.

* * *

 **Who else feels that a huge storm is on its way? I cannot possibly be the only one who thinks that this mission Ulysses has assigned to Quintia and Sentus Optimus is just downright suicidal, especially with the way that Atticus is in no way like Adrian who is just a rat that would hide behind everyone, as everyone else did his dirty work for him.**

 **Reviews make me happy :D I love to hear how you all think about this!**

 **Until next time!**

 **-Hades**


	4. Chapter 4

As the Armada frigate drew closer to the smoldering ruins, Quintia Presidos found herself rather _astonished_ , as the humans would have said, at what was left of the once utopia of the pirates.

 _The Commander's capability for destruction is no less than that of the "Empire," truly_.

Granted, she had stood beside him when he drew up the plans for the Cleansing (as well as several of his newer conquests), but she had _not_ been present when her creator brought down his wrath upon the pirate haven.

 _He has reduced the island to little more than smoking ruins_.

Even from this distance, Quintia could see the smoke that still rose skyward from some part of the island, long since abandoned and nearly impossible to bring back to its former glory. It was fitting, really, after how long the pirates had proved themselves to be thorns in the side of the Supreme Commander and how long they had terrorized the rest of the Spiral.

The secondary captain of the Royal Guards tightened her grip on the shaft of her halberd.

Sometimes, she truly could not say her flawless memory was a blessing. Rather, it felt more like a curse or a spell cast upon some unfortunate victim out of malevolent intent that would _somehow_ bring horrific physical or mental damage (once again thanking her creator within her processor, with his decision to continue upholding the policies the former Supreme Commander had held regarding hoodoo). Even thinking of those criminals brought back the memory of another event, one that was much more recent and _much_ more unpleasant.

It was _exactly_ four months ago, Quintia remembered, when a band of diehards charged directly into Cadiz with intentions of assassinating her Commander and Creator. And they would have _succeeded_ \- a possibility she would rather _not_ consider at the moment, not when she had a mission to accomplish - if it was not for the fact Custos Maximus threw himself in between the Commander and the bullet the assassin had fired.

 _Pain, anger, hate_.

Quintia had learned the most intense of the human emotions then and there, with their position being among the _least_ stable of the spectrum. Thankfully, however, she managed to block them in the last moment, preventing them from taking over her like it would have any other type of being.

She remembered _exactly_ how the previous Captain Commander had collapsed into a pool of his own blood after he staggered into the ranks of the Resistance diehards before his _entire_ frame blew up into a thousand fragments as the self destruction program within him kicked into action; all a precaution to keep the frames of terminated clockworks, and therefore, the technologies of Valencia and the Armada from falling into the hands of the enemy.

The enemy, now the remnants of the organization once known as the Resistance.

As Quintia turned away from the side of the ship, her mind went back to the earlier days of conquest. Even after the destruction of the pirate faction and their so called _utopia_ , the Resistance remained stubborn as ever, continuing to thrive in some corners of the Spiral to continue their battle against the might of the Armada.

 _Those humans are truly strange, insisting on fighting a losing battle even with such little possibility of winning_.

She knew their motivations, what drove them on to attempt such impossible endeavors, but she could _never_ understand why they were so willing to fight even in face of such impossible odds.

Turning her halberd into her other hand, Quintia slung the shield she always carried over her back onto her left arm; the Armada ship gradually approaching the ruins of the pirate haven. Even given how unintelligent the humans were, one could never be too careful when fighting against them.

The gangplank of the ship dropped into the solid land, throwing up a small shower of dark sand that would forever be stained from the blood of the countless pirates that had been slaughtered, destroyed by the wrath of the Supreme Commander. Quintia stepped off first, sensing the other officer Sentus Optimus trailing her as she turned her gaze back upon her clockwork crew as they followed her, reforming upon land.

"Keep to formations, lock on destination and prepare for battle."

Her voice echoed through the ruins, bouncing off the charred skeletons of the buildings that were threatening to collapse upon the mounds and mounds of human skeletons that littered the entire segment of this area. Corpses left behind from the Cleansing, no doubt, to rot and stand as an _example_ of what would happen to those who dared to defy the Armada.

Quintia pivoted around, her shield held to her torso and her halberd up; it had taken her processor little more than just a few seconds to calculate the direction they needed to take, and the time it would cost for them to reach their target location and initiate the mission given to them by her creator, the Supreme Commander himself.

Silently, she recalled the multiple files she had seen in the archives of the Armada while she and her soldiers marched toward their destination.

 _The Knights Templar, commonly referred to as the Templar Order, stands as the nemesis of the Assassin Order with their polar opposite objectives. Unlike the Assassins, the Templars have no hesitation when it comes to disposing of their allies at the very moment that they become useless_.

Quintia could feel another emotion stirring up within her - what did the humans call _this_ one? Disgust? Only the worst of humanity would fling their loyal ally away without a second of consideration for what they had done for them.

The sound of bones being crushed and scattered under foot by both herself and her own soldiers brought the captain of the Royal Guards back into reality, just on time to stop right before the door leading directly into the ancient tunnels; precisely the coordinates provided by the Armada spy Militus Secundus.

Quintia held up her shield to halt her troops.

"Advance with care, ready your weapons."

 _No guards of any sort? This is strange... is this not the location of their headquarters, where their Grand Master is stationed? What kind of leader would allow himself to go without some kind of security protocol?_

Despite it being the primary headquarters of the Templar faction (who seemed to have replaced the pirates in being a thorn to the side of the Armada), there was no sign of life anywhere in sight. Even with her acute hearing, toned to be much finer than that of a human, enough to pick up on the heartbeats of any living beings, Quintia found it impossible to pick up even a single _trace_ of possible inhabitants around.

Kicking down the door with a single strike, the captain of the Royal Guards swiftly flung her shield up at the precise moment when the bullet would have otherwise terminated her existence.

 _I had thought the Templars would not be such easy targets, and it would appear I have been proven correct._

"Fire at will."

With her musketeers protected behind a line of interlocked shields, Quintia advanced forward into the darkness that would have otherwise blinded a human without any visual aide: slamming her shield into the face of one of the Templar sharpshooters who had been too slow to make a getaway from the Royal Guard, following it with a quick stab of her halberd's spear point.

 _"Destroy their headquarters, terminate any and all who dare to fight, and bring the both of them back to me, alive_. _"_

She would do _exactly_ as the Supreme Commander had ordered.

A Templar Brute soldier - the Templar forces' _imperfect_ imitation of the Armada brute clockworks made by dressing a human man within a suit of armor that turns him into a living tank - lumbered toward her, lifting his axe with a grunt and swung it hard; a futile effort, really, for with something that large and cumbersome, it becomes much easier to calculate the path, trajectory of the swing and therefore where the weapon would land and how to counter it -

 _A window of about twenty seconds after he executed the swing would occur_.

Quintia lashed out the very moment she could see the window, the opening, stabbing the Brute directly in the chink that was directly over his throat; a shower of blood dousing the blade of the halberd, the Templar soldier dropping his axe in a feeble attempt to yank the blade out of his throat.

Yanking her halberd back, the Royal Guard captain paid the body no attention as she stepped over it, her vision adjusting to the dim lighting of the tunnel and her armored boots kicking up a small cloud of sand, as she was joined once more by the marine captain Sentus Optimus and the rest of the clockworks that was chosen to attend this mission; his shield and weapon stained with blood just as hers was.

Quintia knew, she _knew_ that she did not have to reiterate the command she had given while she was still on the ship.

To terminate _any_ and _all_ who dared to fight, and capture the masterminds behind all of this.

Continuing their march down the ancient tunnels, Templar soldiers attempted to fling themselves at the wall of marines' shields, several of them impaled easily upon the wall of halberds or shot down by one of the musketeers protected by the square of marines, despite their attempts to protect their fleshly bodies with armor.

 _All going according plan, this is excellent_.

The captain of the Royal Guards and 'daughter' of the Supreme Commander knew what would happen next, _exactly_ -

Based on what could be observed now, they would continue to tear their way into the Templar headquarters, directly into the throne room of the Templar Grand Master Atticus Mercilus, where they would directly engage the Templar, overpowering him before he would be dragged back to Valencia to face justice.

But of course, this was still a _subject to change_ , for humans are unpredictable, which calls for the same kind of unpredictability to fight them.

A single pikeman rushed toward Sentus Optimus - a rather impractical weapon in this kind of enclosed space, the captain thought with what she could name as _curiosity_ , the silent questioning of _why_ they would make such a choice - only to have the marine captain quickly deflect its point with the shield he carried, thrusting out his halberd to chop down on the shaft of the weapon.

The point was severed without any difficulty, from both the sharpness of the captain's weapon and from the velocity of the swing. All it took was a singular bash of the marine's shield into the man's face to send the human into a daze -

Quintia sensed someone fling themselves onto her - a Templar swordsman, almost enough to send her tumbling down before the captain regained her footing; thrusting her shield arm forward with just enough strength to upset the human's balance, then swinging her own weapon in from right to left.

Coils of innards tumbled from his bisected body like the twists of some scarlet snake, landing with a slick noise into the pool of scarlet blood.

HIs body was kicked aside a mere second later, for it was nothing but an _obstruction_ in the path of both Quintia herself and her soldiers in carrying out the will of the Supreme Commander Ulysses -

 _Second right, first left_.

Recalling the instructions given to her, the Captain of the Royal Guards turned down the second branching hallway at the right, then a sharp left turn.

"So I see that Septimus has sent some of his newest _toys_ to me."

The man whose mouth had issued those words was unfamiliar to Quintia, at least until her processor quickly recalled the name that was attached to this face.

 _Atticus Mercilus_.

"Surrender your arms, Atticus Mercilus, and come with us without a fight - perhaps the Supreme Commander will take mercy on you."

The Templar laughed.

"What a naïve clockwork you are, truly, do you think I would give up everything to a pathetic weakling as Ulysses Septimus, after he had already taken the throne of the Grand Master General from me?"

Something flared within her, a feeling akin to a fire burning within her very core -

 _No one will slander the Supreme Commander_.

Quintia Presidos would _not_ permit _anyone_ to talk ill of her creator.

Her slender fingers tightened down on the shaft of her bloodied weapon with enough force that, had she been a real human, her knuckles would have went white with the effort. It took _all_ of her control to keep the emotion from externally displaying itself: holding out her halberd toward Atticus and his group of Templar soldiers.

"Surrender, or prepare to face termination."

"Never."

Atticus drew his sword, a seemingly regular blade marked with the scarlet cross of the Templar, holding it out before him.

"You will have to make me, clockwork."

 _If you insist so, Mercilus, then you have left me with no other choice_.

With a singular wave of her halberd to signal her soldiers to charge, Quintia soon found Mercilus and herself circling each other like a pair of mountain lions preparing to fight for the position of the alpha of a pride.

"You are a naïve little fool who simply was lucky, clockwork, just like your _master_ Septimus."

Metal screeched along metal, when their weapons lashed out, clashing against each other. Sparks flew between sword and halberd, neither giving in, neither relenting to the other's strikes against each other. It was impossible to tell how many minutes had passed as they fought, but soon it begun to feel like eons to the Royal Guard captain, and Atticus had _not_ relented in his strikes. His attacks had begun to become even _more_ ferocious, if that was even possible.

"And like your master, you are _weak_."

 _Do not listen, do not listen to his words, you are above him_ -

Quintia's train of thought was cut short, _painfully_ , by a burning pain in her lower back, and a powerful kick into the center of her spinal column that sent her world spiraling as she was sprawled out onto her front.

"How much more _pathetic_ could you get?"

That voice was the last thing she remembered before a blinding flash of light drained all of her energy, _all_ of her consciousness - and her world went black before her eyes.

* * *

 **And all of hell is now going to break loose. Seriously, I cannot possibly be the only one who _saw_ this coming. But what shall be the fate of Quintia and Sentus Optimus? Oh you can be sure that Atticus has plenty planned in store for both of them.  
**

 **Reviews make me happy :D**

 **Until next time my dear readers!**

 **-Hades**


	5. Chapter 5

It had only been a single day since Ulysses Septimus had found out about the location of the next map piece.

The Supreme Commander of the Armada paced the length of his flagship - the _Malevolence_ \- for what must have been the thirtieth time yet. The more they approached the fortress of the Neo - Aquilan Assassins, the more the memories returned in more ferocious waves.

 _"Ulysses, run! I will cover you!"_

 _Ezio was cut off rather rudely by the sound of a cannon firing somewhere out in the distance, and the sound of a section of Monteriggioni's battlement walls coming down; rubble now landing on the streets in massive chunks._..

Ulysses Septimus' white gloved fingers tightened almost painfully around the railing of the Armada galleon. His mouth had pressed down into a thin line, impossibly thin, behind the mask that had became his face; it was utterly, _completely_ impossible not to recall in vivid detail, as though it had only happened yesterday, the siege of the Assassin fortress of Monteriggioni.

He had escaped, Septimus recalled, almost unscathed minus a few minor bruises and scraps and small wounds from fighting against the Templars who had attempted to cut him off during his escapade.

 _If I had returned a few minutes quicker, this could have been prevented-!_

In the same vivid detail, Ulysses saw himself return to a scene of _carnage_ in the fortress when the _Malevolence_ passed by the ruins that was once Monteriggioni; made _ever_ more vivid by the moonlight now shining down from the heavens, reflecting from the stones that were once a part of the mighty fortress, telling a story with their own silence.

 _A story of bloodbath, of death and my first failure that I could have prevented_.

Ulysses turned his gaze away from the fortress' ruins, albeit with some effort, focusing instead forward and on the location that he and his soldiers currently headed towards.

The fortress of Cyprus, named after the island on which it stood, fabled to be the birthplace of the Aquilan Goddess Aphrodite Mirrorlove.

Internally, the Supreme Commander of the Armada estimated that it would not be longer than one more hour before they arrived at the only recently built fortress. Some part of him deep down inside nudged at him, whispering like the golden artifact often would into his mind.

 _If it wasn't for Atticus, the memories attached to this world would not have been so bitter and painful. If it wasn't for him, your brother would have lived. if it wasn't for him, your lord and your King would have still been alive and functioning_.

Atticus Mercilus.

Ulysses' lips twisted from a straight line into a dangerous, silent snarl, both of his hands tightening around the armrests of the chair as he fought to keep himself from exploding into yet _another_ one of those fits of silent anger against the Templar Grand Master, the one who had tore his life down and stomped it into _shreds_.

Yet, ironically, if it was not for Atticus instigating this series of events, perhaps he would not have been in the position he was in today.

The thought alone was enough to prompt a slight, airy chuckle of an almost _morbid_ humor from Ulysses' lips behind the protection of his mask.

"How strange you are, Fates - what else do you wish to give me in return for tearing something I hold dear away?"

He had only registered those words when he had spoken them out loud to the empty cabin before him, and the little chuckle that followed it at least a whole minute later. Perhaps he should not have been testing the fates this way, for are they not the one who loves to actually reply to the questions of the mortals through actually enacting out the answer before them?

The thought was quickly pushed to the other side of his mind, however, muted by the overwhelming buzz of memories and _voices_ he could not name within his skull.

Running his fingers along the map of Aquila laid out on the map before him, Ulysses lingered over Illios, the location in which the city of Troy currently stood. What a damn clever location, truly: surrounded on both sides by steep mountains, a single fortress of enough size would be easily defended, but much more difficult to take.

 _No wonder the Eagles have not been able to make even a dent in the forces of the snakes._

Ulysses brought a single gloved hand up the comm link clipped to his collar.

"Albinus, report in."

The very second his fingers left the miniature mechanism, a series of organized raps sounded at the closed door of the captain's cabin.

"Enter."

The youngest member of the Triumvirate closed the door behind him as he stepped in, his right arm snapping into a classic Armada salute.

"Supreme Commander and creator."

Ulysses nodded only once, raising his right hand in a singular gesture for him to have a seat in the chair directly across from him, separated only by the massive desk that had taken up the majority of the space in the cabin.

"Have a look at this."

Who else would be more fitting to help plan out the assault on the Trojan fortress than the representative of his own intelligence and logic?

Albinus was silent for several seconds, simply scanning over the map laid out before him.

"It does appear that our foes have chosen a rather strategic location for a fortress; easy to defend, hard to lay siege to."

The Armada elite sniper scanned over the map a few more times.

"Though it is not impossible to subdue-" He traced a singular thin finger up the sides of the image of the walls of Troy, "-if we can overcome the walls and open the gates from the inside, whatever is inside the walls would be nothing but "meat for the picking," as how humans would have put it."

Such was not exactly _difficult_ for Ulysses himself, truly, not with his training and experience he had amassed over the years as an Assassin, he could scale those walls with little effort; not to mention if this was accomplished at night, there was a more than likely chance he would be able to slit the throat of the sentries without raising even the _smallest_ sound.

"What would you suggest of then, Albinus?"

"What you had in mind, Commander, or myself and Servius can remain on the ship and snipe off each of the sentries to open a way for the eagles to enter the city. I have another idea, though it is not exactly one of _stealth_."

"Continue."

 _The Apple truly had not failed in making him my perfect twin in terms of intelligence and logical reasoning._

"Bombard them with our cannons until the walls come down, then allow the Eagles to march their forces in first, and only send our troops in after them so to avoid loss to our numbers."

Ulysses had thought he replied with perfect clarity and _control_ , though the clearly visible flinch that went through Albinus' frame made him think otherwise: "I do like your ideas, particularly the third one, which I believe that the General Rooke himself would no doubt agree with myself on."

It was a fairly well known fact that the General of the Armada was one who lusted after the thrill of the battle, of spilling the blood of the enemies of the Armada.

Pausing for a singular second to compare each of the plans within his mind, the Supreme Commander of the Armada allowed himself a ear - to - ear smile behind his mask, so wide it almost felt _painful_ upon his face.

"Belay my commands to the Genral Rooke and others, we shall take on the third plan you recommended."

Albinus saluted him.

"Immediately, Commander."

Rising from his seat, the elite sniper exited the cabin in a few quick strides, leaving Ulysses once more with his own thoughts and the demon which had woken from its slumber at the promise of blood and carnage; hissing excitedly like a snake that had just picked up on the scent of its prey.

Perhaps it was not the brightest idea to allow this demon to catch a scent of the blood that would no doubt be spilled, for Ulysses soon found himself rather dizzy and unable to hold a straight stance as he rose from his own chair, a feeling rather similar to those rushes he would get when he served as the Interrogator for the Assassin Order. Only it was ten times, a _hundred_ times stronger.

The very _same_ urge to throw his head back and _laugh_.

The same urge to _want_ , desire _more_ blood to be spilled by his enemies.

The same dizziness at the thought of the blood they would spill onto the earth as they fall down screaming, struck by a sword or some other weapon.

"My my...I am quite addicted, it seems…"

Again, this was addressed to no one in particular, and it drew a laugh from Ulysses so that he had to quite literally clamp a hand over his _own_ masked mouth to keep it from rising to a volume that would alarm his soldiers -

Lowering the hand down once the tremors and the laughter had finally died down, Septimus stepped out from the cabin, sensing a jolt through the deck underneath his feet as the _Malevolence_ pulled into the docking area of the fortress of Cyprus.

Cyprus, much like many of the Assassin branch headquarters, was built in the same fashion as the other buildings often found in the world they were located; more or less resembling a typical Aquilan fortress, only the banner of the Assassin Order flew proudly in the air from the tallest building - the _Praetorium_ \- housing the Governor of the particular branch.

White clad Assassins held up their right hand in the Aquilan salute as Ulysses stepped off the Armada galleon.

"Hail, Grand Master General."

While normally, Ulysses felt more at ease amidst the ranks of clockworks he commanded, the Armada Supreme Commander found himself blending right back in among the Assassin faction -

 _My brothers and sisters_...

Turning the dagger blade over in his hand, the Armada Supreme Commander sheathed the weapon with his signature flourish as a gesture for the governor and his elites to take their respective seats around the massive table in the war chamber.

"I had received news that the next piece of the map leading to El Dorado is here in Aquila, in the hands of the king Odysseus."

Ten long fingers interlocked, Ulysses looked over the face of each and every one present.

" _Sì_ , Grand Master." The Governor of the branch spoke up, a middle aged man about the age of forty with a fine beard. "Our informant within the army of the Achaeans confirmed such."

"Then send the informant to announce to him of our arrival: inform him that we are more than ready to aide him in winning the Trojan War."

 _This is not Valencia, so it is only prudent to be careful in dealing with leaders of significance_.

Saluting him, the Governor rose and exited the chamber.

Ulysses trained his attention back onto his elites - Deacon, Rooke, Servius, and Albinus - a small smile almost making its way onto his face underneath the protection of his mask. By now, Rooke's _eagerness_ was almost visible, but Septimus supposed he could not blame him, he supposed, considering that the Supreme Commander of the Armada made it quite clear that he could take control of each and every battle they could possibly become involved in with the Serpents.

"Prepare to set sail for Troy."

Ulysses had left most of the elites onboard the _Malevolence_ upon arrival to the outer rims of Illios; marching an entire battalion through the outer rings, where Serpent scouts were basically _everywhere_ was nothing short of suicide -

 _In a war, sometimes the number can be the difference between defeat and victory_.

The Supreme Commander of the Armada made a single gesture for Albinus - the only elite accompanying him - to keep close, much to Servius' dismay (upon initially hearing of the Commander's will to enter Illios without anyone else accompanying).

It almost felt as though he had returned to the times when he was naught but a single Assassin, truly, when he completed missions by himself and no one else.

"Commander!"

Albinus had spoken in the lowest of all whispers, almost imperceptible had it not been for their close proximity; almost pressing against each other.

Following the musketeer's finger, Ulysses could just make out the shape of what looked like a campfire in the distance.

* * *

 **And so the Aquila storyline begins, sort of. We also see a bit of the intelligence bestowed upon Albinus, for he is after all, literally Ulysses' intelligence, logic, and reasoning personified.  
**

 **But whether the Armada soldiers succeed in taking the map piece or not shall be revealed later ;)**

 **Reviews are much appreciated and they make me happy :D**

 **Until next time my dear readers!**

 **-Hades**

 **(PS: email address is on my profile, I welcome any questions about VE/VL or anything else you would like to speak to me about)**


	6. Chapter 6

"What are your commands, Creator?"

Ulysses' lips thinned behind his mask: it wasn't too hard to shut the whispers out of his mind for a few minutes for him to think clearly, however, these were still delicate grounds to tread on. No intelligent mind was needed to know that hostilities toward foreigners were more than high up in the skies, particularly during the times of war. Not to mention the Ithacan King Odysseus, whom they were dealing with, was a eagle well known throughout the Spiral for his shrewdness and craftiness.

"Leave any speaking to me, remain _silent_ unless I give another command."

The Armada Supreme Commander smoothed a crease from his uniform, rising to his full height. There was likely no need to announce his presence, if his Assassins had preceded him and announced it to the Achaean warriors.

"Halt, who goes there?"

While he usually _preferred_ to keep his mask on in public, Ulysses reached up and removed it, fastening it to his belt with the clasp Cristobal Auditore had made specially for this.

"It is I, the Assassin Ulysses Septimus: I seek only to have a peaceful audience with the King Odysseus."

Inwardly, Ulysses thanked the previous Commander as the whispers faded down into naught more than a slightly annoying buzz in the very back of his head, and the memories seemed to have retreated as well, even if it was just for a _minute_.

The eagle hoplite that had stopped both of the Armada officers slowly lowered his spear.

"Lord Odysseus had been expecting you, Your Grace."

Ulysses was fairly certain it was quite impossible then to not feel at least a bit of... _pride_ , if that was the correct word, when his reputation as the Grand Master General of the Assassin Order preceded him.

The Supreme Commander of the Armada made a slight gesture with two fingers of his left hand for Albinus to follow; trailing the eagle through the camp of the Achaeans.

As they passed, Septimus did not need to look to see the reactions of the Aquilan soldiers at his no doubt foreign Commander's uniform. This was not exactly a concern of his, not when he had something of a much _greater_ importance to worry about.

The hoplite stopped before one of the more elaborate tents, out from which stepped another eagle with brown feathers and clad in blue tinted armor.

 _So this is the famous Odysseus of Ithaca?_

Per common curtesy, Septimus brought his left hand up to his chest, curled into a fist and offered the other monarch a slight bow that was more like a curve of his upper half.

"The honor is mine to meet you at last, King Odysseus."

"As it is mine to meet you, Grand Master, shall we talk inside?"

Ulysses sensed a fleeting streak of unease from Albinus, though the Supreme Commander of the Armada shrugged it off -

"Have a seat, Grand Master."

Odysseus had sat down in a wooden chair directly across from Septimus himself; locking eyes with each other once Septimus settled down as well.

 _Perhaps it would be wise to not "beat around the bush" here_.

"I trust that my Assassins have already spoken to you regarding _what_ I am here for, King Odysseus?"

"Your men had only mentioned that you are seeking out an artifact of particular importance that is currently within my hand, Grand Master, though they failed to mention _what_ this artifact is."

Ulysses forced back the slight smile that threatened to emerge at the corners of his lips.

"It is the piece of ancient parchment that you have with you, to be precise, it is part of an ancient document that I am currently in the process of reassembling."

What is the need to reveal the Grand Design to someone whom it does not even _concern_?

Odysseus appeared pensive for a second.

"And you are willing to lend a hand in this bloody battle _just_ for that?"

"Indeed."

The Supreme Commander had expected this, of course, for who would believe that an ancient parchment is worth sending soldiers into this long and bloody battle? It was all too good to be true, he had no doubt that the famous _crafty_ king of Ithaca would have realized within no more than just a few seconds.

"I won't ask of you to tell me why you would do so much just for a piece of some ancient document."

Ulysses exchanged glances out of the corner of one eye with Albinus. Whatever it was that made Odysseus not question them, they could both definitely _agree_ that it was for the better.

"But you should definitely consider speaking with Eaglememnon about your plans, Grand Master, lest he mistakes you for our enemy. After that skirmish with Eagilles, I do believe he would be more than happy to take his sword up against anyone that gets upon his nerves."

Inwardly, Septimus snorted at the thought of the so called _commander_ of the Achaeans. While, based on what he had read of the brother of Menelaus, he was no doubt a capable warrior within battle, Eaglememnon also had a ridiculously bad temper and could not take anyone challenging his authority. _How_ he was named the Commander of the Achaean army was truly beyond Ulysses' perception.

"Your words are wise, King Odysseus."

As the Ithacan king rose, Ulysses rose as well, careful to keep his hands away from the sword at his hip lest he gave off the wrong impression.

Following Odysseus' lead outside, the Supreme Commander of the Armada halted his steps just outside the largest tent of them all within the camp, as the Ithacan king himself stepped in first.

"Commander, do you truly believe this to be wise?"

Albinus had only spoken loud enough for Ulysses to hear glancing into the entrance of the tent that Odysseus had disappeared into.

"In times like this, chances must be taken."

Ulysses winced involuntarily.

 _Those damned voices, those whispers! What are you trying to tell me, Apple of Eden?_

There was no part of him that did not absolutely _loath_ the inopportune times those whispers chose to come in -

"Enter."

A lazy voice had spoken up from somewhere inside; while Ulysses usually had no problem acting polite in front of someone and putting up a convincing facade, the voice that had spoken suddenly made it _much_ more difficult. Nevertheless, Septimus did, offering the same salute he gave to Odysseus - placing one fist over his heart and offering a slight bow of his upper half - to the elaborately garbed _Commander of the Achaeans_.

"Lord Eaglememnon."

"Grand Master General Ulysses: Odysseus here tells me that you are happy to offer aide to our cause?"

 _Do you doubt me, Eaglememnon? As it does appear that your ego is larger than the world of Aquila in itself_.

"Indeed so."

Ulysses did not need to look into the eagle's eyes to see the _disbelief_ in it.

"I do not see any of your soldiers with you."

"They are on my ship, Lord Eaglememnon, our numbers may be small, but one of my soldiers is worth a thousand of those Illios Serpents."

"Show me then, tomorrow morning."

Ulysses offered a slight bow.

" _But of course_."

As both of the Armada officers made their way back to where the _Malevolence_ was, Ulysses only _barely_ registered the ear to ear grin that split his face behind the mask, which he had donned the very moment they left the camp of the eagles.

The demon inside him could hardly _wait_ for the bloodshed.

 _Give them hell, give them blood-!_

For not the first time that day, Ulysses winced, nearly pressing one hand to the side of his head - the damned voices only seemed to be _worsening._

"Supreme Commander."

Ulysses' scarlet eyed gaze surveyed his troops from behind his mask, as he returned to the Armada flagship; each and every one of the clockworks snapping into the Armada salute in acknowledgement of his rank as their Supreme Commander and leader.

"I trust the transaction went well, Commander?"

Deacon shifted the walking stick he always seemed to carry with him over into his other hand, the voids that were his eyes locking into the ones set into Ulysses' own mask.

A simple nod from the masked man.

"Odysseus agreed to hand over the piece within his possession if we are to aide the Eagles in winning the Trojan War: however, their _Commander_ -" The word fell from Ulysses' lips with a sour tone, for there was no denying the distaste he felt about the so called _leader_ of the Achaeans. "-Insisted that we _show_ them what we can do against those Serpents."

The smile that had appeared before once more curved Septimus' lips behind the protection of his mask; both in amusement at the not exactly _subtle_ way that Rooke's attention seemed to instinctively latch onto him, the very second he had emphasized the word _show_ , in _anticipation_ of what was soon to happen.

"General Rooke, I trust you will be able to ensure that Eaglememnon receives a good _show_ tomorrow morning."

* * *

 **The Trojan War is going to take a real interesting turn now, who's looking forward to it? And yes, Ulysses is just sliding off the cliff even more, more and more. Will it ever stop? ;) the answer is NOPE.  
**

 **I do appreciate reviews :D.**

 **Until next time!**

 **-Hades**


	7. Chapter 7

While it was quite important for a human to have their rest, Ulysses found himself unable to sleep as he laid in the tiny bed within the cabin of the _Malevolence_.

Every time he closed his eyes, that _scene_ would play out once more in full detail, from the _gaping_ wound ripped into Kane's torso by the dagger of Adrian Devereaux to the very _face_ of the pathetic excuse of a man. Every sound, every sensation he had _ever_ felt during that dreadful day now returned to him -

 _How could you have allowed this atrocity to happen?_

The most abominable voice of them all laughed, it taunted him, _reminded_ him of his failure to protect his _god_.

 _You are a failure, Ulysses Septimus, an absolute and complete failure! What are you compared to Kane himself?_

Both of his hands curled into trembling fists, like they always did when those damned _memories_ returned to him.

 _Yes,_ he certainly _was_ a failure. He could _never_ hope to measure up to Kane's greatness and perfection, he was a weak and _imperfect_ copy of the Supreme Commander, hiding behind a mask.

Sitting up in his bed, Ulysses found himself swinging his legs over the side of it and stepping back into his boots; rising to full height and throwing on his waistcoat and his uniform.

All this time, the voice never ceased in its taunting.

" _Remember how you failed at Monteriggioni? How you failed to protect your dearest rose from the hands of the pirates and the Templars? Thrice you failed, Ulysses, thrice you could have prevented all of this from happening_."

"Shut up."

Ulysses found himself breathing the words out from between clenched teeth at the abominable voice, even though his more _rational_ half reminded him that this was not something he could stop, he could not prevent it any more than he could prevent the artifact from sending its whispers into his mind.

And _nothing_ vexed Septimus more.

Quickly tugging on his white gloves and his weapon belt, the Supreme Commander of the Armada snatched his mask up from his desk, setting it over his face.

Turning his gaze to the single small mirror in the cabin, Ulysses found the face of the previous Supreme Commander of the Armada gazing back at him, the same face that had haunted his once peaceful dreams. In that very moment, Septimus could almost swear the thin smile plastered across the mask had moved, twitching into the very same smirk that would often graze the king's face whenever he issued an order that would ultimately end up resulting in _victory_ for the Armada.

"My master, lord and king..."

Those words fell from his lips before Septimus had even registered they had, his sigh of adoration sounding alien even to his own hearing as it was muffled and altered by the mask.

 _Guide me as you have in the past, show me your light and your truth, for I am but nothing more than a weak shadow of you_.

Forcefully ripping his gaze away from the mirror, Ulysses set the golden brimmed black tricorne over his still tightly done silver locks, tilting the hat so it cast a shadow over his 'face'. The Supreme Commander was not exactly _certain_ what he meant to accomplish this late at night - but nevertheless, he opened the door of his cabin and stepped out onto the deck of the _Malevolence_.

The night around him felt eerily quiet, especially with how his own clockwork soldiers now stood without a single movement or sound at their posts.

Searching among his brothers on the deck, Ulysses' gaze landed upon the massive form of the titan clockwork Rooke standing near the prow, his lower lip twitching for a brief second behind his mask.

It would be a _lie_ to say that having only Deacon (who currently loomed near the starboard side of the ship, gazing outward into the skyways while both of his thin hands rested on the walking stick he was never without) on his side did not _hurt_ deep within his heart; while Ulysses would _agree_ that he was naught more than a pale imitator of the previous Supreme Commander Kane, he would _not doubt_ that he had placed his utmost effort into living up the previous Commander's reputation and expectations-!

"General Rooke."

Again, Ulysses could not have been more thankful for the miniature vocalizer attached to the mouth of his mask, for without it, his human voice would have betrayed any and _all_ of the emotions running rampant through him.

The titan pivoted around with surprising speed.

"Supreme Commander."

As it was customary to, Rooke offered a slight bow of his head to Ulysses; while he was certainly respectful of his authority, the hint of disregard was _still_ there within his voice. Rooke had never been one for _subtlety._

"I would like to have a word with you, _privately_."

The Supreme Commander closed the door of the cabin once Rooke stepped inside, sweeping behind his desk with a light swish of his long coat.

 _I should have spoken to you of this a long time ago_.

"Tell me, General, am I not doing enough to live up to the order our lord had given to me before he was terminated?"

His voice had came out in the synthesized boom of a monotone supplied by his mask, though without the usual commanding air Ulysses wielded, or so he _hoped_. The last thing he needed was to lose one of his elites.

"Compared to our previous commander, I do believe I am not the only one who feels this way, _Comandante_."

Ulysses inwardly winced. While he could not say he did not _expect_ it, the not exactly concealed jab was still enough to hurt deep down inside (and the way that the _despicable_ voice within him _agreed_ to this did not make it better), especially not with the almost _sarcastic_ tone that Rooke had spoken the last word of his sentence with.

"General, I do not realize if you know this or not, but I myself am _aware_ that I do not have the capabilities to be on par with the previous Supreme Commander."

With these words falling from his lips, it almost felt as though a large weight had been lifted off of his chest; almost enough to prompt a smile behind his mask when he noticed the far too _obvious_ surprise that rippled through Rooke's form at his own confession.

"But I guarantee one matter: I will not stop, nor will I rest until I see His Majesty's final command to me has been accomplished. I will _see_ to it that Devereaux and Mercilus receive the punishment they deserve, that El Dorado belongs to the Armada, and that Valencia stands to be the supreme power of the Spiral."

 _Of course, how could I forget the final request, the final command His Majesty had given me upon his death's brink? It is utterly impossible to do so, not in a thousand years, not with how I had to watch him die before my very eyes!_

"You have my word of honor, General."

Rooke's grip shifted on his weapon, almost as if he was attempting to decide whether to trust in Ulysses' words or not.

"Very well, Commander, I will entrust in your words."

 _This is not unlike when I was a Captain of the Armada, is it not? Having to prove myself worthy to all of the elites, having to show that I am worthy of my position, of their respect_.

Ulysses nodded once, raising one hand to show he was dismissed.

With the resonating click of the cabin door shutting immediately following Rooke's exit, Septimus sighed. He should have done this earlier, truly.

"What a weak, useless fool you are, Ulysses."

The Supreme Commander of the Armada laughed quietly to himself, not of merriment, but more of _bitterness_. How weak he was, when he was the Supreme Commander of the Valencian Armada, yet he could not maintain respect of his own elites -

 _But the Supreme Commander Kane must have seen something in you, he would not have just reached out and chosen you without a reason behind it, would he? Every single action of his meant something_.

Such was _true_ , Ulysses realized. The former Supreme Commander of the Armada always had a reason behind every action, for each ultimately worked towards _something_ within the final picture: the death of Emilio Barbarigo, for example, had caused a general disturbance within the forces of the Resistance, based on what some of his other spies had reported back to him recently -

Drumming his fingers along the edge of the desk, Ulysses' thoughts wondered back to the current events at hand.

There was still a good hour or two before the battle would begin, and likely five more or so before he could at last return to his homeland Valencia where he now ruled as the king. While this mantle of the Lord of the Armada felt almost suffocating at times, Septimus found it almost impossible to _not_ long for his return. Not that he was surprised in anyway, for warfare always seemed to have this kind of effect on a human; and it never seemed to lessen, even after so many years.

And with the near complete silence within his cabin, the memories returned once again, although they were some of the more pleasant memories that Ulysses had no qualms about being lost in.

With his rhythmic, controlled breathing behind his pale mask and the sound of his _heart_ beating within his chest being the only background noises, Septimus allowed his mind to trace back to the first battle he had actually participated in.

It was only about a year after he had first completed his training as a Assassin Master, perhaps only a few months before the disaster at Monteriggioni, he recalled, when the Assassin Grand Master Altaïr IV sent a force of Assassins to take back a fortress the Templars had taken over in the world of Polaris.

 _They always said that the first time could either be your best, or your worst. I do suppose that this first battle brought out my best, but was it worth it that this battle would ultimately become the progenitor of the bloodlust within me? Perhaps_...

A single gloved hand slid down to the sword at his waist, sliding the blade with a small screech of metal against leather and steel that sounded much louder than usual from its scabbard. Within the darkened interior of the cabin aboard the _Malevolence_ , the light from the Sword of Kane, the weapon once wielded by the first Supreme Commander of the Armada, was almost _blinding_ , to say the very least.

Ulysses' gaze ran among the workmanship of the weapon. Even now he could not stop himself from marveling at this weapon made by the hand of the first Supreme Commander; simple yet elegant, the blade untouchable by tarnish, as though the blood of whichever unfortunate fools that had once painted it kept the nicks and dust that would have painted any other blade away.

 _Speaking of the blood of fools, it is time to begin_.

Raising once more from behind his desk, Ulysses sheathed the weapon at his waist and stepped outside.

In the light of dawn, while the visors of his mask had lessened greatly its effects on him, Ulysses still found it hard to see without squinting slightly for the first few minutes.

"What are your orders, Supreme Commander?"

It was Deacon who had spoken first, being the first one to notice the Supreme Commander's presence.

"Bring out three of our guns and enough ammunition for them to Illios." This should not be too hard, or at least his calculations said they should not be. "Bombard the walls of Troy with cannon-fire until they fall, then provide backup for the Eagles as they storm the walls."

It almost seemed far _too_ easy, that the Fates would be handing a map piece to him so fast, but Ulysses would not complain against it. Even the voices within his mind for once were in harmony with his thoughts, however scrambled some of them may be.

His clockwork soldiers had carried out his orders in an instant -

About three Armada dragoons pushed three of the _Malevolence_ 's guns along the path, while another three carried the ammunition for them (having been upgraded from using the standard formula to something _much_ more destructive thanks to Cristobal's extensive researches); trailed by a small battalion of chosen soldiers from the crew of the _Malevolence_ and of course the Grand Marshal Rooke himself.

By the time Ulysses' small force of soldiers arrived in the camp of the Eagles, the Commander of the Armada had to bite back a triumphant laugh at the sight of Eaglememnon's face, how his beak all but dropped into an awkward 'o' of surprise at the sight of the clockworks, particularly the Dragoons and Rooke himself (as the Titan gave a small scoff of disregard that only Ulysses had picked up due to his extensive time with the elite court).

 _These aren't even all of my elite warriors_.

Ulysses' attention was soon directed elsewhere as he gazed upon the walls of the city of Troy.

He had seen plenty of magnificent cities (Cadiz being the _most_ stupendous of all of them), and he would admit that Troy would be one of the very top, with its slick looking walls of white stone, each perfectly sculpted to fit like the parts of a puzzle. It loomed like some sort of silent giant over the Achaean camp, taunting it with its white walls, impregnable even to the strongest Aquilan weapons.

It was almost a _shame_ they would soon have to raze it.

"You called for a demonstration of my powers, Eaglememnon, and now I shall give it to you."

Ulysses had spoken those words without even glancing back at the _commander_ of the Achaean forces -

 _Bleh, why should you even pay attention to that insignificant worm_ , one of the voices sneered within his mind, _he is nothing compared to your might, you who are the Supreme Commander of the Armada, the Lord of Three Crowns!_

It was tempting, _yes_ , to agree with what the voice was whispering into his ear, but he had _business_ at hand.

" _Fuoco a volontà!_ "

Several loud cracks snapped through the area, comparable to the sounds of thunder in itself, as the three guns of the _Malevolence_ fired upon the white walls of Troy.

Shards of stone blew into the air, carried by the brunt force of the new Valencian alloy ammunition on its cesium based gunpowder. It did not take many shots to send an entire section of the walls to come tumbling down, its serpent defenders' hissing shrieks of pain, surprise, and anger somehow resonating through the area.

"Forward, Achaeans, make those fools pay!"

It was the voice of Odysseus that had snapped the rest of the Eagles out of their amazement at the sheer _power_ that rested in such a small fraction of the clockwork Armada.

Ulysses drew his own sword and launched himself into the battle, the last thing he remembered seeing (before the _demon_ within him took over his actions) being Rooke throwing himself into the fight with his usual loud, _booming_ laugh that was like the thunder that rolled in before a thunderstorm.

He did not know how long the demon had taken over his limbs, though he did suppose he could fathom a good guess in the very least, when he finally recovered, judging by the sight of at least a dozen of serpentine forms splayed out before him in the midst of their palace, their throats slashed wide open and the sword in Ulysses' own hand thoroughly stained with their blood... As well as the form of their prince, judging by the golden crown he wore, with a throwing knife protruding from his throat, and the triumphant form of Eaglememnon looming over him.

 _I suppose my job is done here_.

The Supreme Commander of the Armada brought a single hand up to the comm link clipped to the collar of his uniform coat.

"All forces return to the ships and await further orders."

Ulysses sheathed the now bloodied weapon back into its scabbard, able to sense the demon within him retreating into its usual slumber as he made his way out of the now ruined fortress.

"Wait, Grand Master Septimus."

Ulysses' steps only halted upon the sound of Odysseus' voice: the eagle holding out what appeared to be a worn piece of parchment to him, that the Apple of Eden within his pocket confirmed to be the piece of the map they came here searching for.

"As you aided us in ending the war, I must honor my end of the deal."

* * *

 **Now only two more pieces of the map remain out of the hands of the Armada, but will they get to them in time ;) come back and it shall be revealed in the future chapters. And yes, Ulysses may be the Supreme Commander, but a certain few elites still don't agree with him being the king of the Valencia, Lord of the Armada and Emperor of the Valencian Empire.  
**

 **Reviews are much appreciated, my readers, and yes that includes you, guests! (points through the screen) It makes me write faster and better :D.**

 **Until next time!**

 **-Hades**


	8. Chapter 8

Upon recovering her consciousness, the Captain of the Royal Guards turned her head to survey her surroundings.

It was a mere chamber hewn from stone, almost impossible to see anything had it not been for the little light the cloth curtain that covered the entrance of the chamber permitted in. By the appearance of her surroundings, how the manacles around her wrists and ankles bore a steely shine unlike the worn stones of the chamber, Quintia Presidos guessed that this was most likely only recently converted into a prison cell.

 _What had gone wrong?_

Her memories traced back to the beginning of the attack, running through every second of it.

Vividly, Quintia recalled the searing pain in her lower back (which had lessened considerably by now), and that flash of light which seemed to drain all of her energy from her in no more than a few seconds.

"Recalling your failure, Captain?"

Her face immediately turned toward the source of the voice. It would have been rather difficult to distinguish who it was, had she been a normal human: being a clockwork, her vision had adjusted immediately.

"It was nothing but a _miscalculation_."

Atticus Mercilus chuckled, resting one hand on the sword at his hip, striding slowly, _leisurely_ from the shadows where most of his form had been concealed until he stood directly before Quintia.

"A mere miscalculation, you say? I beg to differ, Captain. I believe it is the same reason that your Commander, that _weakling_ who called himself Kane the Second, is nothing more than a fool, just like _you_."

Quintia did not reply, instead returning the Templar Grand Master's sneer with a cold gaze of her own.

"As how you humans say, beating around the bush will get you nowhere: I take you are here to seek information regarding the Supreme Commander? Then realize that I will give you _nothing_ , Templar."

Mercilus' lips curved up into a smile, not one of happiness nor anything she could instantly recall, until Quintia pinpointed the expression as one of pure _malice_ ; it was the very _same_ expression Ulysses, her Commander and creator would often wear, whenever some unfortunate fool was dragged down into his private torture chamber for their untimely doom.

 _What is it that you are planning?_

Had this been any other clockwork, Quintia knew, this would have horrified them, as the Templar Grand Master made no other gesture that would even _hint_ to what he was planning on, taking away the statistical calculations that so many of the clockworks would rely on. But, considering the Ulyssean Triumvirate had been programmed with observation based calculations, Quintia felt no trace of fear.

Instead, she simply continued to watch, observe the Grand Master Templar and each and _every_ one of his movements. Observations had never failed her before, and through observations she had outlasted, _outsmarted_ many of the most stubborn enemies of the Armada.

She could do this again, Quintia was _certain_ of it.

"It seems that you are much smarter than I initially gave you credit for, Captain, and not many can actually surprise me, _congratulations_."

The Templar offered a mocking bow.

"Precisely what I am looking for, yes: I want a way directly into the fortress of Cadiz, a way to enter and do the Spiral a favor, by _disposing_ of that tyrant Kane the Second. But if you insist on being stubborn, I will have no other choice but to _force_ it out of you."

At his words, a trickle of emotion crept into Quintia's processor.

 _Fear_.

The same emotion that would often send frightening images of what _might_ happen into the minds of humans, reduce mighty warriors into nothing but cowards. It coursed through the Royal Guard captain's veins like some sort of infernal snake, curling up within her very core and threatening to _consume_ her.

But she could _not_ allow it. Not now.

Atticus tutted disapprovingly.

"I thought you were at least smart enough to spare yourself some pain. Oh well, I am not surprised."

The Templar stood there for several seconds, just like when he had only entered her prison, although this time his actions were that much more obvious; a smile spreading through his lips with enough malice that Quintia felt another chill run down her spine. It did not take someone intelligent to realize whatever thought that may have entered the Templar Grand Master's mind was one of ill intent against her creator and Commander, maybe she herself as well.

"I would _love_ to stay for more, but unfortunately my new plan requires my utmost attention."

Mercilus whistled sharply, one that reverberated through the ancient ruins and would no doubt attract attention.

"My soldiers here are more than happy to... _make_ you open your mouth, Captain, unless you make the wiser decision and give up the information that I want."

 _What can this man do other than threaten me with death?_

"Never."

Quintia could only describe the smirk on Mercilus' face as that of "a hunter seeing their prey falling into the trap they had designed," based on her memory of something she had seen in a book within Cadiz's extensive library archives.

"Then I have no other choice, Captain. Boys! Show her the Templar greeting!"

With that, the Grand Master of the Templar Order swept out of the darkened chamber, replaced by two impossibly bulked up men dressed in the armor of the Templar soldiers. So impossibly large they were, Quintia could almost daresay that if one of them tried, they could likely snap her in half if they tried.

Both of the men uttered sounds the captain of the Royal Guards had only recognized as laughing after at least two seconds or so.

One of them had brought out a golden key, almost delicately balancing the little item in between his thick, gauntleted fingers as he undid her shackles. And likely out of some deeply programmed combat instinct, she lashed out against the brute with her arm; the horror that she had only _barely_ stifled back minutes earlier returning as a tsunami when the brute seized her wrist within a crushing grip Quintia had only thought possible to be from a Brute clockworks.

 _They do appear powerful, but how could this be-?!_

She could feel some part of her tremble deep within, for her keen powers of observation were the very _fundamentals_ of her programming, they were what she had based everything upon. And now they are rendered _useless_ -!

Quintia turned her gaze to the other brute, who took the key from the first and undid the shackle of her other wrist, gripping it in a hold so tight she swore she had felt her inner skeletal structures bend under the pressure.

"That officer actually managed to _live_ through our greeting!"

The first brute laughed, a sound that could only be described as the jeering of a predator who had just caught his dinner.

"Let's see how long _you_ can last."

 _Sentus actually managed to live through it all?! What is the meaning of this?!_

Countless possibilities begun to sprout within her mind of what could have happened to the more experienced officer. It was all but _impossible_ to tell which one was more dependable, which one she should base her next moves off of, for none of them had observational evidence to form a solid ground to stand on. There was no proof that he actually _lived_ , and she could not hear him nor perceive him within her range of vision.

And without observational evidence, Quintia Presidos found herself all but _paralyzed_ : her breathing threatening to accelerate to an _audible_ rate as the emotion of _fear_ began to crawl its way through her very being like a leeching _parasite._

Had she possessed the heart of a human, it would have been thundering within her chest in this very moment, she was certain of it.

It also did not help that both of the brutes had slammed her form against the wall, her chest pressed against the cold stone and her back facing them. Already the ratio of observations versus uncertainty had been tipped to a dangerous degree, and this only served to further the gap between the factors.

Quintia could feel her frame seizing up when she felt one of the brutes fumble at the leather straps of her armor, all but ripping it from her frame, leaving her entire torso _bare and vulnerable_ to whatever sick ideas they held within their minds.

But out of all of these possibilities, she did not expect the _pain_.

It was as though they had lashed _fire_ across her skin, all while ripping off chunks of it in certain places and carving deep gashes that no doubt spouted blood like a waterfall. Granted, she had been wounded before whilst in the middle of battle, but this was nothing like it at all, the pain lingering and burning with an intensity she had never felt before.

And again and again those blows came. By the time the thirtieth came to pass, Quintia had lost count of the lashes.

She wasn't certain when she had lost consciousness, but by the time the Captain of the Royal Guards recovered, she could tell that her tormentors had already left the chamber in which she was confined: the silence telling it all.

Quintia winced sharply, the burning wounds in her back sending a jolt of pain through her entire frame.

 _Danger: Damage over thirty percent_.

This was swiftly ignored, however, when she realized something.

While the chamber was ill lit, she could still see a certain distance in front of her, enough to see the gaps in the stones of the wall before her. But _now_ , she could see nothing, nothing but darkness, overwhelming darkness that threatened to choke her within its grasp.

And with even more _horror_ , she realized that she was blindfolded.

As though that was not enough, she could not even _hear_ anything aside from the scratch of some tiny organism on the stone floor outside -

Observation had always been Quintia's primary method of analyzing her surroundings. Without being able to see or _hear_ , it was impossible to observe or feel anything aside from the painfully burning lash wounds on her back.

Without observational evidence, it was impossible to not feel fear and _uncertainty_.

What would become of her now...?

* * *

 **Yep, Quintia is not exactly in the best of all situations right now, especially considering this is none other than the Grand Master of the Templar Order. I almost did feel bad for putting her though all of this, but hey, what is a story without the suffering of characters? It would be boring as all out hell and no one would actually read it, plus, it's good for character development, no? Check back later to see what will happen to her and to cyborg marine Sentus Optimus.  
**

 **Reviews are much appreciated :D until next time, my dear readers!**

 **-Hades**


	9. Chapter 9

It was almost as though the Fates wished to remind him of everything that he had failed in before, and perhaps spit on his ill fortune. Ulysses found his sleep was _again_ wrought with nightmares after another exhausting day of carrying out the duties of the Supreme Commander and the Lord of Valencia.

It had taken all of Ulysses' willpower to not wake up _screaming_.

 _Am I to be haunted with these damned memories for the rest of my human life?!_

This dream was likely the worst of the ones that had plagued him -

In all the grisly details, Ulysses had found himself reliving his escape from the bloodbath at the Assassin fortress of Monteriggoni. He could _swear_ that he could still hear the sound of the walls of the fortress crumbling down, the sound of bodies hitting the ground as the Templar invaders stormed the fortress, slaughtering each and every assassin they came across, not even sparing the novices, who were only barely learning to defend themselves from the hands of those murderers.

 _"Go, Ulysses! I will cover you!" Ezio drew his katar, already taking his stance even as large sections of the wall rained down upon both of the Assassins. "What are you waiting for? Go!"_

The Supreme Commander placed his cybernetic hand upon his forehead, still struggling to still his racing heart.

Even though this was something that had occurred more than ten years ago, it was still utterly impossible to prevent himself from feeling the crushing guilt that often came with this memory. It was also impossible to keep the fear, the primal fear that had laid curled deep within him like some sort of sleeping serpent from reappearing and sending his heart rate up into the skies.

However, this part had not been the worst of his nightmares at this time.

Ulysses had found, with even more horror, himself reliving his next two failures, from the very moment when his dear rose perished, down to the very seconds of his master's very last moments.

Scarlet eyes scanned the chamber, the Supreme Commander finally calming down after several minutes of struggling to slow down his rapid breathing rate and heartbeat.

 _I can still see that moment, it is as though it had happened merely minutes before-!_

Those same eyes cast down toward both of his hands, the cybernetic one and the one of flesh. Partially, Ulysses expected to see both of his hands doused in the blood of his master, or even his wife. It was _that_ vivid.

 _Why won't these memories relent?_

Septimus winced, pressing his left hand to his forehead. Damn it, his head felt as though it would split open in the next moment, like someone was using a hammer and a chisel against his flesh.

 _Shut the hell up dammit, shut the hell up!_

Those voices! Did they even know when to shut up?!

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, the Supreme Commander of the Armada slipped his knee high boots back on; inwardly cursing when he found his balance rather compromised upon attempting to stand, only regaining it when he had braced his cybernetic hand against the table next to his bed.

The vertigo was impossibly strong, even when Ulysses managed a half way steady standing stance.

By the time Septimus managed to stagger his way over to the single, but _massive_ window of his chamber, most of the vertigo had thankfully subsided.

Bracing the side of the window, Ulysses drew in a sharp breath at the sight laid out before him.

It was utterly _impossible_ , he had always believed, to _not_ marvel at the beauty that was his homeworld of Valencia, be it at day or at night.

For once, the usually heavy storm clouds that would cover his homeworld had allowed the moon out, letting it cast its silver light over Valencia and the many Armada ships patrolling its skyways; the clockworks ever so vigilant in their defense of the people of this beautiful empire.

 _This beautiful empire, my empire_.

It was true, he had built it from the ground up, starting with only one world, _this_ world, before Septimus had managed to expand it to cover several worlds of the Spiral with the aide of his Assassins and the clockworks now under his command. Sometimes, it truly amazed him how he had created this empire within only a little more than a year.

The Supreme Commander of the Armada could not stop the wince from rocking his entire frame, for just _remembering_ even the smallest fragment of memories associated with his Commander brought the _whispers_ back into his mind.

 _A failure-_

 _Remember what you've done-_

 _You failed to protect them._

The pain that had wracked his skull returned with each of the whispers.

 _Descendent of the First Civilization? Keeper of Eden? Failure_.

Ulysses' hands flew up to clench at the sides of his head.

Make it _stop_.

The pain grew stronger, as though to remind him he was nothing but a puppet to these whispers. What could he do against them? He had been able to shut them up at times, shut off their influence from his brain by pushing them into the very back of his skull, but what else could he do?

He was powerless against them, no matter how much he wanted to deny it.

Ulysses was powerless against his body lurching forward and out of his chambers, into the adjoining study. It was as though some otherworldly force had looped strings around his limbs, pulling him in the manner that a puppet-master would guide his favorite little puppet.

His legs gave out the very moment he was close enough to his desk, and to the glowing golden orb that was both the source of his knowledge to build the Ulyssean Triumvirate and the object that had infinitely cursed him with the whispers within his mind. Before, his failures, they had been nothing but a slight buzz at the very back of his head - but now, they were nothing short of the demons reminding him of those times he could not decide if he wished to let go or hang onto like a drowning man.

It was _foolish_ , it was _desperate_ , but Ulysses knew nothing else.

Ulysses found it impossible to tear his eyes away from the golden artifact. It felt as though the light given off by it held some sort of physical weight, petrifying each and every muscle within him to ensure that he could _not_ turn his gaze away.

He hated the whispers, the way they brought along his memories and worsened his nightmares, but he could not deny the fact he enjoyed the power it bestowed upon him.

With a slightly trembling hand, the Supreme Commander of the Armada found himself reaching out for the golden artifact.

His entire body trembled, a _moan_ almost spilling out of his lips in euphoric joy when he felt the oh - so - familiar power surge through his very being. Power was addicting, but even more so when physically given to him: with this in his palms, Ulysses could almost daresay he could match the powers of all of the First Civilization, those beings proclaimed as _gods_ by the first inhabitants of the Spiral.

A smile made its way onto the pale, almost _gaunt_ face of the Supreme Commander of the Armada, one that stretched from ear to ear and only _barely_ felt by him. However, the power, the euphoria also brought along searing _pain_ , pain like a thousand knives being shoved into his flesh, like the burning hot, chain - link whip that Atticus had used so long ago to tear into the flesh of his back, dousing the barely twenty two year old Ulysses in his own blood.

But the pain was muted in the face of the _exihilaration_ brought on by the sensation of his power, just as the invisible puppet strings around his limbs were barely acknowledged by Ulysses, even when he lowered the artifact and made his way back over to the desk, pulling out a sheet of parchment and beginning to sketch.

 _What is this?_

He knew this was not right, that he should perhaps at least partially attempt to fight against it, though frankly, Septimus didn't care. He was _interested_ to see where this would go.

It felt like an eternity before his hands stopped drawing, the artifact finally relinquishing its hold on him.

 _A clockwork assassin, with my full set of weapons and my DNA memories. A fitting backup method I suppose, with how fast this shell of mine is failing_.

Any country or army required a leader, and without a leader, anarchy and pandemonium was sure to reign.

Ulysses did not need to be reminded of his own mortality, that he could not last long enough to be the commander of the clockwork Armada forever, especially not in this vessel of his body that was falling apart at the seams. His weak, _imperfect_ shell of a human body, no matter how much he could dress up to appear as though he was a clockwork.

His lips turned up into a slight smile, not one reaching from ear to ear like how he so often had, instead, it was one of genuine emotion, the happiness he had not felt for _so long_.

 _You shall be my greatest creation yet, Aetius Varius Septimus, a perfect replica of me, but without the human flaws plaguing me._

Pushing himself out of his chair, Ulysses found his steps surprisingly steady as he stepped into the chamber in which he had brought Albinus Crassus into the Spiral.

Crimson eyes scanned the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Everything had remained in where he had left them, almost a year ago, shortly before the invasion of Skull Island, untouched except by a thin layer of dust upon the tools and some of the material placed within the multiple chests in the chamber.

Ulysses allowed his back to connect with the door, his entire frame sliding down onto the ground in a sitting position; blueprint still held within one hand. His entire frame had seemingly went _numb_ , unresponsive to every command issued by his brain, and even the scars on his back throbbed with ghost pain.

It felt as though the scars had been ripped open again. And some part of him felt as though a chunk of his flesh had been torn away, only to be replaced by new skin within a few mere seconds.

And another part of him _screamed_ at him, demanding that he not ignore this sensation.

Ulysses however, paid it no attention.

 _Why waste one's time on this when instead, one could use their time so much more…productively?_

* * *

 **New character introductions, yay! Yes, Ulysses' condition is just getting worse and worse and worse, there is no end to his suffering. And if any of you are wondering, Ulysses' condition, after a few hours of online research by me, is basically PTSD induced schizophrenia, hence for all the hallucinations and such. Poor guy, he's just slowly losing his mind.**

 **Hence why he is currently building basically a backup version of himself, just in case if anything is to happen, oh and you can all be sure that Aetius will play a major role in VE, especially later ;).**

 **Reviews are much appreciated, see you all next time!**

 **-Hades**


	10. Chapter 10

Ulysses was not aware of how long he had worked, not until the light of morning begun to seep through the bottom of the door to the chamber he was toiling in. His energy finally giving out, the Supreme Commander collapsed to his knees once more, the shock from it traveling up his spine rather _painfully_.

He had never felt so _weak_ before, and inwardly, Septimus cursed his still - human body. Had he been a _clockwork_ , like the previous Supreme Commander of the Armada, this would not have happened.

But of course, this was nothing more than _wishful thinking_ , as nothing could liberate him from this human shell which he was cursed to carry for at least five more decades.

While this would have usually made another human despair, Ulysses felt nothing. His scarlet gaze turned down to the skeleton form laying upon the table, the very same way Albinus had began before he was animated by the power of the Apple of Eden.

It certainly was impossible to prevent the smile from curving across his lips.

 _This progress is certainly good: if this rate is kept up, perhaps he can be done by the evening after the next_.

The earlier Aetius was created, the better it would be. There was no telling how much longer he could hold up, as much as Ulysses detested to admit it, with the recent hallucinations and how much more persistent the _voices_ had been getting.

Reaching into the pocket of his black pants, Ulysses' fingers closed around the chain of the pocketwatch and fished it out.

4 AM.

Thin lips pressed into a neutral line: already time for the morning meeting with his elites?

Quickly throwing the cloth over the skeleton form of Aetius Varius Septimus, Ulysses locked the door behind him upon exiting, ensuring to drop the key back into the secret pocket he made for it as he cradled the golden artifact in his other hand; threading his way back into his own chambers.

Ulysses paused before the only mirror within the chamber, a full length one that stood upon two feet shaped to resemble the claws of an eagle.

 _How different I appear now_.

While his mind may not have been of the utmost stability, it was not difficult for Ulysses to remember his previous appearance any more than it was for him to recall some of the less pleasant memories within his mind.

The metallic fingertips of his left hand tracing over the scar marring that side of his face, Ulysses Caesarion Septimus allowed himself to _remember_.

His eyes weren't like this two years ago, no, they weren't bloodshot with all the little capillaries branching out of the once vibrant crimson of his irises. Nor had they appeared so _sunken_ into his skull.

Even his skin was almost stretched across his skull, with just enough muscle underneath to show that he was a human still; making the scar on his face stand out that much _more_ if it was possible. It was also possible to see a trace of his previous appearance in this almost _cadaver-like_ appearance, yes, but it would take at least a good minute of examination.

 _Everything has changed so much in just a few years. But I do suppose this is fitting, fitting to the appearance of my own soul, if I still have it, that is_.

The Supreme Commander of the Armada found himself almost laughing out loud at the thought with more or less slightly _morbid_ humor.

Though he would not deny that it was also a good question: _did_ he still possess a human's soul? After so much tragedy and tribulation in his twenty eight years of existence, crushed under emotional scars and memories of his own failures, and memories of him simply handing the reins over to the darkness and the demon that reigned within him, did he still possess a human's soul?

Ulysses did not entertain the question further, however, and swiftly turned to snatch up his waistcoat from where he had left it the previous evening -

White gloved fingers delicately lifted the perfectly sculpted mask from its stand. Ulysses turned once more to the mirror in his room, fitting the mask over his thin, _gaunt_ face, drawing in a long, controlled breath as the HUD display within the visors switched on. With this on, gone was the man Ulysses Septimus, and here stood none other than the Armada Supreme Commander Kane the Second, ruler of the Valencian Empire.

Those same fingers now traced over the contours of the mask, over the golden corona around the eyes and over the black visors set into the sockets.

The Supreme Commander winced, as though he had unintentionally brushed against a cut or a bruise.

 _No one looks beyond this mask of mine, save perhaps my mentor. But perhaps that is for the best, considering that this is the time my soldiers need me the most_.

Ulysses picked up the golden brimmed, black capello with its pin and tassel, setting it over his now combed back silver hair, tightly done in the fashion preferred by the officers; the ornaments upon his elaborately decorated coat jingling slightly.

The Commander's footsteps echoed down the metal hallways. He could not tell if it was some deeply ingrained habit he had adopted over the past year, but somehow, he had managed to keep to a steady march all the way to the throne room that now belonged to him; emerging from a side door just behind it.

Ulysses' crimson eyed gaze scanned over the rows of assembled clockwork officers, all of them snapping into a perfect Armada salute when their Commander took his seat, the folds of his uniform falling surprisingly well together.

 _My warriors, my family. How much longer will it take for those fools of the Resistance, or should I say what's left of them, to realize that rebellion against my hand, against our hands, is a futile effort?_

Oh don't get him wrong, he _tried_ to offer most of them mercy. He had given them a choice, shortly after he made an example of the pirates of Skull Island, to either give in and be given amnesty, or continue their useless fighting until each and every one of their men had been felled.

" _Ave, Imperator Secundus Caesarus_."

Septimus acknowledged with only a slight nod, appropriate of his position; turning his head slightly to his left, where Deacon the spymaster stood.

"Let the ambassadors enter."

Upon the spymaster's voice, several ambassadors, each representing a different world of the Valencian Empire stepped through the entrance of the throne room, dropping to their knees before the Supreme Commander of the Armada in the fashion they were all expected of.

"Hail to His Grand Majesty, Lord of Valencia and Commander of the Armada."

While everyone else would have simply leaned back and accepted tribute as it is, Ulysses found himself picking up a slight trace of distaste concealed in their voices. But truly, who could blame them? Particularly the world of Marleybone, they did not need to fight that battle in the very first place, had it not been for the damned Templars and pirates working together on a scheme that would place the blame of the disappearance of the governor's daughter on the Armada.

"Arise."

From behind his mask, the Supreme Commander surveyed each one of them, until his gaze landed on a figure Ulysses had _never_ before seen among the ambassadors of the worlds; his hood drawn over to almost completely conceal his face.

"Your Majesty."

Ulysses' attention turned away, to the ambassador of Marleybone.

"Our Queen sends her best regards to you, Your Grace, as well as three hundred thousand gold pieces as our gift."

The Supreme Commander of the Armada could feel his lips twitching up into a smile behind his mask. With every day, the power of the Armada expanded over the Spiral to encompass more and more of the worlds, as did the power of the Assassin Order; bringing in more and more tribute to add to their already fattening treasuries.

"Send her my gratitude from me, in thanks for this generous gift."

The ambassador bowed again, retreating into the lines of others as the one from Mooshu came forth.

"Your Heavenly Grace, our shogun would like to thank you for your aide in putting down the rebellion. Allow us to present you with two shipments of weapons -"

The rest of the ambassador's words were drowned out by the sound of two massive booms sounding akin to cannons being fired. Almost out of instinct, Ulysses shot up from his throne, and just in time too, when the shadow clad figure he had seen earlier suddenly lunged at him with a dagger; the blade burying into one of the armrests.

 _Not so fast you fool, I had won the throne of the Grand Master by true prowess!_

Ulysses lashed out with one leg, kicking with as much force as he could summon into the stomach of the figure.

It was enough to send the figure tumbling backward with a grunt, his back colliding hard against one of the pillars. While the Supreme Commander's attention would have remained focused on him, Ulysses was forced to tear his gaze away when a pistol shot just _barely_ grazed the side of his face.

Scarlet eyes narrowed behind his mask, his hand flying toward the sword strapped to his waist and yanking the blade out of its scabbard, stepping off the dias in a few strides to engage the first saboteur that had rushed at him.

By that point, everything within Ulysses' mind had been muted by the autopilot which always seemed to come on whenever he went into battle:

Parrying the man's short sword with his own blade, Ulysses twisted his head to the side just long enough to stab the Hidden Blade strapped to his wrist directly into another saboteur's throat.

 _Merda, damn humans!_

The Supreme Commander cursed inwardly when he felt a burning gash tear through his side, just underneath his ribcage, and he spun around sharply to see the few drops of blood that now clung to his first opponent's blade, the gash in his side weeping drops of scarlet red as the delicate skin underneath was torn open, as were the veins underneath.

His crimson eyes narrowing, Ulysses only barely registered his actions as his hand with the hidden blade, his left hand, the cybernetic limb that had been attached to the stump of his wrist after his almost _miraculous_ escape from the hands of the Templar Grand Master Atticus Mercilus, clamp down on the man's throat with a strength no human should have, after sheathing the hidden blade with a twitch of his wrist.

The man gagged, both of his hands flying up to weakly pry at the long, slender fingers of the Armada Supreme Commander's vice - like grip.

"Fleshly weakling."

The words fell from Ulysses' masked lips without emotion, without _remorse_. And with such, the Commander of the Armada closed his grip just a little more, relishing how his prey's pulse thundered under his fingers (as the clockwork - like hand still allowed for a certain degree of sensation), before they just stopped altogether, following the sound of the man's neck being _snapped_.

"Commander, behind you!"

Ulysses released his hand from around the human's throat, his coat whipping in the air with its numerous decorations when he spun around at the sound of Servius' almost _panicked_ voice.

The man, he assumed, from before, the one he had knocked into the pillar, had leapt at him again, this time with a sword he had no doubt taken from one of his fallen comrades that had been struck down by either the Grand Marshal Rooke, or one of Octavius Caesarus' Royal Guards.

Sparks showered upon both of them when the blades collided, realization suddenly striking the Supreme Commander of the Armada.

He had _seen_ this style before. Yes, he had _seen_ this fighting style before, for only _one_ being in the entire Spiral that fought like this, using acrobatic jumps to power the swings and thrusts of his sword.

No one but his _archnemesis Atticus Mercilus_ fought like this.

 _Yet it could not be him, could it? That fool would not be so brazen as to challenge me where I am the strongest!_

The hooded man slashed at his torso, almost managing to make another cut on the Supreme Commander before Ulysses' own sword lashed out, blocking it in midair.

Sparks flew between the blades once more, from the force of both of the combatants, both unwilling to give in to the other. It almost made Ulysses reconsider who he might just be. No one else fought with this kind of determination, one that said they would give it all before they would even bend their knees to the enemy.

It was this very same quality that made Atticus a valuable Assassin within the Order, up till the point where he betrayed the Aquilan Branch to the Templar Order, and he was expelled from the Order for being a bloody _traitor_.

While it would have been beyond _foolish_ for Atticus to actually travel to Valencia to challenge his might, Septimus found himself growing almost more and more certain that this _was_ the Templar Grand Master himself. Who _else_ could this be, really? And if such was true, then oh he would have some _fun_ with this bastard - !

 _There_.

He could see an obvious loophole in his enemy's defense through the HUD display of his mask's visors. Without hesitation, Septimus lashed out, launching one leg in a powerful kick that caught the hooded figure's lower abdomen, sending him tumbling across the floor of the throne room -

Stopping right at the feet of the musketeer officer Servius Decimus himself.

Ulysses turned away then, for he did not exactly need to speak this command for it to be known to his eldest creation. The sound of a body twisting and spasming against the floor of the throne room alone was enough to tell him that his unspoken command had been acknowledged.

With that out of the way, the Supreme Commander found himself surveying the carnage recently transpired; breathing a sigh of relief from behind his mask when it was clear that none of the clockworks had perished in this little skirmish. The only visible signs of damage was the few Royal Guards stained with the blood of the saboteurs they had struck down to protect their Supreme Commander.

"Commander."

Ulysses' masked face turned to the looming figure of the Royal Guard captain Octavius Caesarus. Unlike Quintia or any of the Royal Guards under his command, Octavius' armor was colored black and gold, much like the armor of the Grand Marshal Rooke, from whose protoform he was born: and like his "father", Octavius loomed over many of the clockworks present.

"What is it, Captain?"

Much like the Triumvirate, Octavius had the capability to understand emotions, though on a slightly more limited scale, enough for the captain to harness it while feeling almost _none_ of the negative impacts that normally came with such ability.

"There are no survivors save for the one Lieutenant Commander Servius Decimus subdued, what are your orders regarding him?"

Ah, yes, _that one_.

"Take him down to the dungeons, I shall speak with him personally, as he could have valuable information."

That last little bit was spoken more for the Captain Commander of the Royal Guards, for it was true that Ulysses wished to speak alone with this one, but it would be regardless of if he truly held valuable information or not.

* * *

 **New character introduction and idiots attempting to kill the Supreme Commander! Yep, everything is just going fantastic for Ulysses lately, isn't it? (insert sarcasm here). And who is this mysterious surviving character? You shall see soon in the next update ;) I'm not giving away any secrets ehehehe.  
**

 **Thanks to my awesome beta reader Severina de Strango for helping me :D _grazie, maestro_.**

 **Reviews are appreciated, and until next time!**

 **-Hades**


	11. Chapter 11

Alexander Mercilus had known that he was bound to fail the moment those black and red armored clockworks had began piling into the Supreme Commander's throne room. Yet, some part of him still _believed_ it was possible to take down the king of Valencia.

He recalled that the humans would have called this state one of desperation, of utter, _complete_ desperation.

And now this desperation would be his _undoing_.

Strangely, however, the clockwork felt no fear, just like it had not felt wrong for him to be fighting against his own kind.

Perhaps it was due to he was _certain_ of his own fate.

He was _certain_ that he would be executed, that those other clockworks under the command of their Supreme Commander Kane II would tear him apart, just as they had done with so many other Resistance assassins before them. And he welcomed this fate, for _what_ more could they do? Nothing could be worse than termination, and once it was done, it would all be over for him.

"Supreme Commander."

Alexander's gaze instantly turned toward the sound of the voice, the same musketeer officer that had stunned him earlier.

While from where he was, chained to the wall of this cold metal cell, it was utterly impossible to see who the officer was speaking to, but truly, it did not take a high level of _intelligence_ to realize who would soon arrive.

A small shiver ran down Alexander's back, at how the piercing, void like eyes of the Armada Supreme Commander seemed to look directly through him, even separated by the metal bars of the cell.

And it certainly _did not_ help that a moment later, the clockwork king of Valencia stood directly before him, no more than perhaps a few feet away.

"Now now, who exactly _are_ you?"

Those six words were spoken in a monotonous voice, _far_ too monotonous to be natural even for a clockwork like him. And those words sent another shiver down his back, almost enough to be visible on the clockwork.

Alexander blinked, almost unable to adjust to the sudden change in lighting when the clockwork king's hand suddenly lashed out, ripping the hood that had been obscuring his face away.

Void - like eyes met amethyst ones, a voice, more powerful than he had ever heard, boomed from unmoving, sculpted lips.

"You are _not_ him, yet you fight like him."

 _Is he referring to my Creator..?_

The Supreme Commander's words were dangerously vague, almost _far_ too vague: while Alexander knew he was different from the other clockworks with his appearance (having eyes of amethyst and opal, with a silver corona around the sockets instead of having two voids), he was also no exception to the fact that he also depended upon statistical calculations to function in battle.

And without those calculations, it was almost utterly _impossible_ for him to properly function -

 _DANGER_.

The tip of the blade that had shot from the Supreme Commander's sleeve had stopped mere _millimeters_ away from his throat.

"It's a pity that an Eden - being like you stands with that _bastard_."

By this point, it was _impossible_ to not feel the fear that had crept through him and made its way to his core like the coils of some infernal snake: a chill creeping through Alexander's entire being at how _reverent_ those monotonic words seemed to be.

"A perfectly made Eden clockwork..."

The Commander's words, as though the gap in the factors were not enough, were ever so _vague_ , as one of his white gloved hands reached out and _delicately_ traced over his jawline.

Alexander was certain that if he had possessed a human's heart, it would have _stopped_ right then and there.

 _Far too many unknown factors, what is he trying to achieve?!_

It was a _complete_ contrast to what he had been just mere minutes ago, almost _hostile_ against him -

 _RED ALERT_.

A gasp had tore its way out of his throat, his air supply cutting off to a almost dangerous degree by the hand that had clamped down around his neck with an almost bruising grip.

Then, as fast as it had appeared, the hand drew back.

Alexander found himself gasping for air, furiously cycling it through his systems in an attempt to gain back the precious oxygen it had been deprived for in what he was certain only a few seconds.

 _What-what is it you are trying to accomplish through all of this? I thought all clockworks had a reason behind every action_ -!

His gaze scanned a few more times over the Supreme Commander of the Armada, over Kane II's stiff, professional stance. Perhaps he could gain a few clues as to why the clockwork king was acting this way through observation -

" _Perfetto_..."

Far too many unknown factors, far too many of them for his liking. And to Alexander's horror, the gaps between what factors were _known_ had widened significantly, making it nearly impossible to calculate the precious percentages and statistics.

 _Was this how the humans felt having the ground yanked out from underneath them?_

Nothing had changed in the clockwork king's face, the thin line of a smile remaining upon those lips.

 _Eerie_ , the humans called this, he remembered, a condition in where something ordinarily would not have been capable of inducing fear suddenly becomes _capable of doing so_.

No word could have fitted this situation better.

Yet even with his knowledge of emotions, _nothing_ could have prepared Alexander for the next thing that happened.

It was in that very moment that the Supreme Commander of the Armada reached up and plucked away what Alexander had thought to be his _face_ this entire time.

The delicate, porcelain - like mask now laid in his white gloved hand, and his _real_ eyes now gazed into his. Alexander could not decide what appeared more unnerving, his masked face, or this _real_ one.

For his real face was _nothing_ like the perfectly shaped mask he had worn as his face before.

It was thinner, almost far too thin for a human, just on the verge of too thin to be healthy, with faint traces of black lines underneath his eyes from being deprived of a proper amount of sleep. And those eyes, those eyes almost _burned_ into his soul, with the thin, red lines of the capillaries branching out from the irises with the color of fresh blood.

But such was not why his eyes were horrifying in the very least for Alexander.

It was the _reverence_ , the utter and complete _worship_ and longing within those bloody red orbs, blended with complete _hatred_.

How this was possible, Alexander could _not_ comprehend. How could a human display both _worship_ and hatred at the _same_ time?!

"That bastard does not deserve someone so perfect!"

Kane II's true voice, unlike his nearly _cadaverous_ appearance, was hauntingly beautiful; a smooth, silken tenor with the accent of those born in Valencia.

"You will be _mine_ , and _mine alone_!"

It had taken Alexander several seconds to realize what he meant, sending another jolt of horror through him.

"No-!"

He could not even finish, for the pain from the _light_ was so strong it all but vacuumed the energy out of him, replacing it with a feeling he could only describe as the blood in his veins turning into fire, searing each and every inch of his frame.

 _Creator and Commander, no this can't be!_

Already, each of the memories associated with him, his creator was changing.

 _He is not your creator, he is your enemy-_

 _But he brought me to this world-_

 _The Supreme Commander is who you serve!_

It was as though a signal had been set off within his processor at that final thought, that alien thought he could no longer find alien, and the pain faded away just as fast as they had suddenly appeared.

Alexander could not even find enough energy within him to maintain his standing stance, both of his legs giving out underneath him, leaving him suspended by only the manacles around his wrists.

 _My name is not Alexander Mercilus_.

Just _remembering_ the surname attached made him feel almost _ill_ , like some force was threatening to make him spew out his own blood through his mouth. This name bodes of nothing good, nothing good in the eyes of his Commander, yes, that's _right_ , he served the Supreme Commander of the Armada, he was Kane II's loyal soldier.

Forcing himself to muster all the energy there is left in him, he locked into the crimson colored eyes of the Supreme Commander, words spilling from his lips before he could even register them.

"For the glory of the Armada, _Supreme Commander_."

He served the Armada, he was _his_ soldier.

"Argentius Domitius Septimus, Armada Commodore, welcome home."

* * *

 **Behold, brand new clockwork character introduced! Now we see a little bit more of Atticus' plan unfold, as well as how bad Ulysses' little obsession is at this point in time.**

 **Poor poor Argentius, I truly do put him through a lot, but damn I am not sorry for the crap ehehehe.**

 **Reviews are much appreciated! Until next time, my dear readers!**

 **-Hades**


	12. Chapter 12

0345 AM.

This was a time at which humans were usually fast asleep in their beds, curled up under the warmth and security of their covers.

But not _Ulysses_ , or more precisely, the Supreme Commander Kane II.

The Supreme Commander of the Armada was still seated upon his throne, even after most of Valencia had dropped into a deep slumber and the clockworks he commanded had gone off to do their assigned duties at night.

His masked gaze turned from Deacon to Rooke and his mentor Cristobal Auditore.

"It's been far too long."

Both of his hands tightened around the armrests of his golden throne, each of the elites acknowledging his words in respectful silence. No more words were needed for them to know the severity of the situation.

 _More than a week has passed since Quintia and Sentus Optimus were sent off to capture Atticus Mercilus and Adrian Devereaux_.

They _should have_ returned approximately three days ago.

And knowing what the Templars were capable of doing to their prisoners, it was impossible for Ulysses to find a reason to _not_ panic.

"Are you suggesting that we send out a force to find them, Commander?"

It was Deacon who had spoken, shifting his grip on his walking stick as he cast the other elites a sideways look: the spymaster had always been the first one to come to a conclusion.

Ulysses nodded once.

"There is no certainty as to what those Templars will do to them, if given too much time."

"But if I may, Commander."

Cristobal pursed his lips, still twirling the drafting compass between his fingers as he seemed to consider what he had to say next.

"Let's say that they really _are_ under the imprisonment of the Templar Grand Master Mercilus - if we are to act up too hastily, we could very well seal their doom."

At the final word of his mentor, the Supreme Commander could not help it, his hands tightened dangerously around the armrests of his throne, almost to a point of denting the metal, for it was quite possible that his precious creation had fallen into the hands of his greatest enemy.

His enemy who was _not_ above tearing everyone apart,if he thought any of their deaths would hurt Ulysses in anyway.

 _This situation is just hanging on the edge of a cliff, is it not?_

One wrong step, and everything would fall apart immediately.

"Then we shall wait no more than one more week."

Those words passing through his lips felt more like _knives_ than anything, cutting his flesh and prodding at what remained of his heart, even after nearly an entire year of recuperating from the wounds. Nothing struck him harder than having to hold back, when his _children_ could possibly be hurt, or even _terminated_.

"After one more week, if there is still no news from them, General Rooke, I want you to take a team of our elite soldiers and storm the ruins."

Ulysses' gaze scanned over his elites once more.

" _Meeting adjourned_."

As the elites retreated from the chamber, the Supreme Commander rose from his golden throne:

It certainly did not take anything more than being reminded of the fact that he was powerless before so many things, before this situation and of what battles that currently raged on within his mind, to drag the Supreme Commander's mind back onto the still incomplete form of the first clockwork Assassin.

He _needed_ to complete him as soon as possible, for -

 _I dread to think of what would happen if my family is left without a leader_.

Just that thought alone sent a shiver down the Supreme Commander's back, as he traversed his way down the darkened hallways by pure memory alone. Every kingdom, _every_ military needed a leader.

 _Turn left, second door on the right_.

The chamber was no more than a few feet away from his office and bedchamber; and he silently closed the door behind him as he entered.

For some unknown reason, the Supreme Commander found himself nearly sprinting over to the cloth covered shape on the table, even though the door had always been kept locked, and the key in no one else's hand but his _own_ ; releasing a relieved sigh when he noticed that the nearly complete form of the clockwork Assassin was just as how he left him.

"You will rise soon enough, Aetius, as the greatest, the _strongest_ of my creations."

 _I must be losing it, talking to a clockwork that is not even complete_.

Some part of Ulysses was tempted to laugh at this, at how far his own mind seemed to have fallen as he returned to working on the clockwork Assassin: reinforcing some of his skeletal structure, adding a few extra gears here and there to give him more agility and strength.

It was truly ironic, in a way, that he had fallen so far, yet this was also the time when he would bring in his strongest creation yet, while the time when he was halfway sane, he nearly messed up in creating Servius.

 _Irony at its finest, isn't this?_

If it was not for that Septimus was currently in the middle of adding the final touches onto Aetius' right hand wrist, he would have allowed himself an airy laugh.

Like how he had so many times before when he was secluded and alone in his own chambers -

The pain shot through Ulysses' skull, its intensity strong enough to be compared to the sensation of someone driving a flaming spear into his flesh.

 _NO! Not at this of all times!_

 _Another_ one of those damned hallucinations!

The Supreme Commander's right hand tightened around the edge of the table to the point where his knuckles turned white from the strength he was using.

It was almost impossible to tell the difference between reality and hallucination, as the details of the image became more and more vivid before his eyes. By whatever god there is, he could see the image of his master and king dead in front of him, every drop of blood, every detail of the enormous _wound_ torn through his chest.

 _Stop it._

The image just seemed to be even more vivid, with each of Ulysses' mental pleas for it to stop and for it to leave him be.

 _STOP_.

 _"It's in your hands now, Supreme Commander..."_

The former Supreme Commander's last words echoed again, and again through Ulysses' mind. Just as much as those accursed _voices_ did, haunting his every second -

 _Are these nightmares not enough already?!_

Nightmares by the evening, voices and hallucinations by the morning, was there no end to all of this torment?!

 _Cease this torment! Has I not suffered enough already?_

Ulysses gasped the way a fish out of water would, one hand brought up against his throat as though some invisible force was attempting to choke him. This was not exactly far from the truth: ever since the death of Kane, it was as though a metaphorical boulder had been dropped onto his chest. It crushed his ribcage, flattened his lungs to a point where Ulysses could only gasp and choke for air.

Thankfully, however, the images relented soon after, dropping him back into reality.

Septimus allowed his eyes to close for a second, as he tried to regain control over his gasping breaths.

 _Damned hallucinations, damned voices! Make all of this stop!_

He turned his gaze to the skeleton form on the table. Yes, he needed to finish Aetius, he needed to finish the prototype: if this continued on, there would be no telling of how much longer what little bit of sanity and logic he still had could last.

Forcing himself back up, back into his work, his _art_ , Ulysses only stopped when a thin, pale hand shot out, grasping his wrist.

"Commander..."

Crimson eyes met void - like ones. Damn it, had he really gotten _that_ loud?

"What is it, Servius?"

Ulysses jerked his wrist back from the musketeer officer's thin fingered hands, only sparing him one more glance from the side of his vision.

"Commander... I truly worry about you."

The Supreme Commander inwardly cursed, nearly dropping the gear that he was about to insert into the shoulder joint of the incomplete clockwork Assassin -

"I am perfectly stable."

 _Finish this, finish this, finish this_...

Some part of Ulysses nagged at him. This was _suspiciously_ like history repeating itself, for had not this very same thing happened when he was in the middle of creating Quintia? Ulysses was almost certain of this.

"Commander, please, cease tormenting yourself with all of this."

 _Tormenting myself? How funny-! What makes you think so, Servius? The fact I am wearing a mask and no one but a few seem to be able to look under it? Such is needed, for I am nothing short of a failure and an imperfect fool, when compared to the god Supreme Commander Kane was..._

"Servius, I command you to drop this matter, there are much greater things to worry about than me!"

Ulysses had only registered that he snapped at him after several seconds.

"I am your Creator and your Commander, do not speak to me of this matter any more!"

* * *

 **Things aren't looking good, are they? Poor poor Servius having to watch his worst fear unfold before his eyes, as the Supreme Commander of the Armada spirals downward even more. At least it does look like Aetius is near completion, or does it? Check back next chapter to see ;) you won't want to miss this next update.**

 **Reviews are much appreciated! :D Until next time!**

 **-Hades**


	13. Chapter 13

Quintia did not know what to expect when she had heard footsteps outside the chamber that she was confined in. Nothing had been definite for the last few days, _nothing_ had been certain, not after the brutes had stripped away her senses of observation from her; making it impossible to tell what they were up to next.

She could not stop herself from tensing when she sensed a hand upon her face, ripping off the blindfold that the Templars had never bothered to remove ever since - how long ago was that? She had all but completely lost track of her time in here -

There was no mistaking that singular visor with the crosshairs on it, the way it almost seemed to _glow_ in the darkness.

"Secundus?"

The name had fallen from her lips almost far too quiet for a normal human to hear, if it was not for the close proximity between Quintia and the Armada spy.

Secundus simply nodded once, before moving to undo the shackles around her wrists with a golden key, the shackles falling away and against the wall.

Quintia rubbed the area on her wrists where the metal had irritated the delicate synthetic flesh, although it was an absentminded movement, as it was only registered a second after she had once more felt the burning pain of the multiple lash wounds ripped into her back.

While it was almost _relieving_ , as how humans would have said, to have her sight restored to her, along with her powers of observation, it did not change how this situation was still a grave one.

 _What will happen now?_

The Armada spy made a singular gesture, putting a gloved finger up to his lips. It was a simple gesture that needed no words to explain, and Quintia nodded; trailing behind the blue - clad spy as they threaded their way down the hallway.

They were _still_ in the ancient tunnels, but strangely, there was no guards patrolling the midst of this barren hallway of stone, and even with her advanced senses, Quintia could not pick up a single sign of human activity: the lighting may have been damnably bad with the few dying torches in their steel brackets, but it was still possible for a clockwork to at least _hear_ the footsteps of nearby guards.

Still _nothing_.

Pulling herself out of her internal observations, Quintia stopped just a few feet behind Secundus as he finally stopped before another curtain covered chamber.

The spy glanced around before pushing the surprisingly light fabric away and stepping in.

And in that very moment, it was possible to say that Quintia had instantly felt another surge of what the humans would have called 'relief', the sensation that could only be described as having a massive boulder that had been crushing down on her chest being lifted away -

Virtually unscathed, save for a few dents in his armor, was Sentus Optimus, chained in a similar position to what she had been only a few minutes before, until Secundus brought out a different key and undid the shackles as well.

While the lieutenant of the Supreme Commander was quiet as he was released from the chains, the cyborg marine captain's single human eye spoke everything for him.

 _I trust you are unharmed, Captain?_

Quintia nodded once: it would be rather _unwise_ to speak up at this time, knowing Templars, she would not put it past them to have some sort of security system set up -

Secundus held up one hand, jabbing his index finger down the empty hallway a few times, mouthing out four words.

 _No time to waste_.

Quintia was certain that if she had a heart, the more they crept down the ancient hallway of stone, the louder its beats would have become with each step they took. All was _too_ quiet for her, much too quiet, and when it was this way with the humans, it was almost _guaranteed_ that they had something planned.

Turning around a corner, the spy's lips twisted into a visible scowl of displeasure before he pivoted sharply on his heels to face both of them; the flames of the singular torch about five feet behind them painting dancing shadows across his face. Even before he had spoken, Quintia found herself able to hazard a guess as to what had brought it on, really, it was not exactly that _difficult_ to do so, not with the almost clear as day sound of human voices just around the corner.

A welcoming thing, after being in the silence for so long.

" _The chamber in which they kept your weapons are heavily guarded -_ "

Secundus mouthed out each of the words with an expression of clear displeasure upon his face, glancing around the corner and back to them once more, his face fading into something akin to... nervousness? The expression was a fleeting one, so Quintia could not exactly say she was _certain_ of what she saw, especially more with the fact they were in a darkened tunnel.

" _We cannot afford to raise the alarm, those damned Templars would be on us in an instant_."

 _It would not be surprising if they did, considering how well they seem to know this pyramid_.

From the moment she had stepped out of the chamber and followed Secundus through the tunnels, Quintia had been paying attention to each and every path they had taken:

 _With a tunnel network this complicated, it is virtually impossible to not get lost among it if one does not know it well. But if someone is to know it well enough..._

The Captain of the Royal Guards allowed her thought to trail off there, for if it was allowed to continue, she was quite certain, the _fear_ that would no doubt follow would have wrapped its icy grip around her even stronger than the chains that had been holding her prisoner, tightening like the holds of some unseen snake.

And in this situation, the last thing that she needed to happen was for the fear to wreck her like it already _had_ before.

Her thoughts were interrupted once again, by the hold of the marine captain Sentus Optimus around her wrist, almost _dragging_ her into one of the many dark niches that seemed to line the tunnels at almost even intervals.

Quintia winced slightly as her back, the wounds only barely having sealed up, connected with the wall of the chamber: though this was soon ignored, her gaze turning to Sentus in a silent question.

Despite the chamber they were currently in being almost just as ill lit as the tunnel outside, the singular cybernetic eye that had long replaced Sentus Optimus' right eye had a sort of otherworldly _glow_ , as did his remaining human eye. The marine brought a single finger up to where his mouth was hidden by the mask, in the same gesture as Secundus had done merely a few minutes ago.

"I thought you said you heard something!"

In that very moment, Quintia felt the blood in her entire system turn to _ice_.

"I really did, trust me!"

"Heh, probably just a rat or something, those tunnels are full of those little bastards. What? Did you think those prisoners would actually _escape_? The Grand Master locked those chains around them himself, idiot...!"

 _So those Templars did not leave the place unguarded, after all_.

This opened up an _entirely_ new plane of possibilities and outcomes, so many it was almost impossible to calculate them all as they flew through her processor: what are their patrol routes? How are they to avoid them if they are to get out of here still in one piece and functioning?

And most important of all, _how long_ would it take for the Templar soldiers to realize that their prisoners had escaped?

All those questions persisted, even after the footsteps of the Templars outside faded away and soon into nothingness when they were too far away to be picked up by even the advanced senses of a clockwork.

Quintia's gaze turned to the other shape in the room, the just barely visible form of the Armada spy. Secundus had been the first one to raise to his full height, carefully venturing toward the entrance of the chamber and peeking outside for several seconds, until the spy finally seemed to deem the area clear; signaling for both her and Sentus to continue to follow him.

" _Almost there_."

The spy had mouthed those words out just before rounding another corner in the tunnels, after what felt almost like _eons_ of inching along with careful, controlled steps.

 _So close to freedom_.

Some part of Quintia had once again felt the emotion known as _relief_ flood through her veins, though a greater part still felt nothing but _apprehension_ , that dread that seemed to have taken root within her core ever since the blindfold had been placed around the voids that were her eyes.

It was almost certain the Templars would have either destroyed or disabled her ship, and definitely the other soldiers in her squadron she had brought along with her.

 _How_ would they return to the Supreme Commander...?!

Shaking her head slightly as though this would help her clear her mind, the Captain of the Royal Guards allowed herself to exhale as the three of them finally emerged through the door that blocked the ancient tunnels off from the rest of the ruins of Skull Island; able to feel the slight spray of the water from the waterfall upon her face -

" _SOUND THE ALARM, THE PRISONERS HAVE ESCAPED._ "

" _Merda!_ "

Secundus had vocalized the thought within her mind, spinning around as his gaze flew from the door to Quintia's own.

"Run, I'll keep them occupied and distracted from your tracks as long as I can, RUN."

The logical part of the Royal Guard was screaming at her by this point. _Where_ could they run, in this ruin of the pirate haven? The entire island was virtually _crawling_ with Templar soldiers!

Sentus Optimus, on the other hand, seemed to have other thoughts. His hand had flew out to close around her wrist once more, almost pulling her along as the former pirate rushed along the path that would lead back to the ruins of Horace Avery's court, his footsteps audible now that neither of them was caring to be quiet.

They raced up the steps that would have led to the front of the pirate king's mansion, before the marine took a sharp turn to the right and onto the bastion that bore a bridge of rope and wood.

 _After so long, it is uncertain if this structure is still stable -_

The thought was wiped from her mind, as they both all but ran across the surprisingly sturdy bridge, kicking up clouds of dust as Sentus lead the way into the landmark that had once given this island its name.

Skull Mountain.

* * *

 **We finally turn our attention back to Quintia and Sentus Optimus, as well as get to see Secundus finally back in action. But would their escape be successful? ;) Check back later to see, of course.**

 **Reviews are much appreciated! Until next time, my dear readers! :D**

 **-Hades**


	14. Chapter 14

"We should be safe here."

It was only when the marine had stopped that Quintia allowed herself to take in their surroundings.

It was not much different from the tunnels they were in before, with the ancient ruins scattered around them -

Massive stone statues of ancient lizards loomed in the darkness like some dark guardians of the afterlife, and creeping plants had long claimed large sections of it years before. And much like the tunnels, it was nearly impossible to see within the darkness that seemed to have encompassed the entirety of the cave.

"How can you be certain of this, lieutenant?"

Sentus Optimus was silent as he surveyed their surroundings. One certainly did not need words to say that this was just his _speculation_ , something that he had only presumed due to the fact that they could both no longer hear any signs of their pursuers on their tracks.

 _But it will not be long, will it? The Templars practically own this island, their forces are everywhere -_

Quintia cut the thought short right there and then.

She could not afford to let the fear take over her so easily: it would only spell their doom, she was certain of it, if either one of them broke down _now_ of all times, for they both had no one else to depend on, no one else to turn to but each other.

She allowed herself to partially lean against one of the many statues (for she did not expect the lieutenant to answer), just barely able to bite back the wince that shook her frame that caused her to flinch as if she had touched something hot with her bare skin. Even with the armor over her torso, it certainly did not lessen the burn from the lash wounds still littering her back.

"Captain, you are bleeding."

Sentus had finally spoken up for the first time since he had brought the both of them into the cave, a trace of what she could tell was _concern_ going through his usually collected words.

Quintia just barely craned her head downward, her own frame jolting when she noticed the almost _alarming_ amount of blood tricking through the gap between her flesh and armor.

 _DANGER_.

The same danger signal from before, when her two tormentors were in her cell (for the fourth time, the fifth time?), shot through her processor, the Royal Guard officer bringing one slender hand up in what even she could recognize as a futile effort to stifle the blood flow.

One large hand now reached out, almost gently tugging her hand away from the area.

Quintia's gaze turned to the marine captain; Sentus did not meet her gaze, instead choosing to undo the straps of her armor just enough to push it to the side, revealing the wound ripped into her lower back, drops of crimson blood still clinging to the edge of the torn flesh, and trickling out still.

" _Devereaux_."

She was almost _certain_ this was the word the marine had growled out under his breath.

 _Yes, this would explain all of it, for no other being in the spiral would fight in this fashion, aside from that pathetic excuse of a man_.

Quintia had not met the swashbuckler before, of course, but what stories she had heard whispered among the Assassins loyal to the Supreme Commander and what she had read from the reports kept in the archives of the Armada was _enough_. And she would say it was even more so, now she had _experienced_ it.

She was brought back into reality once more, when the sound of fabric ripping could be heard. The Supreme Commander's lieutenant had torn off a chunk of the tunic he had worn under his armor, pressing it down on the wound (Quintia being unable to help but flinch away for a single second at the brief moment of pain) and tightening the straps of her armor once more to staunch it.

"Lieutenant."

Both of the marine's eyes locked into hers, as he turned fully to face her, rising to his full height.

"What are your next plans of action?"

Quintia was the Captain of the Royal Guard, yes, but her experience was _nothing_ when compared to the lieutenant of the Supreme Commander: and some part of her hoped (and a much greater part of the clockwork could not believe it, how they were relying on this _concept_ that had no solid base whatsoever) Sentus _knew_ what to do.

She herself could hardly form a plan within her mind without feeling more of the _nervous_ thoughts creeping into her processor.

 _Nervousness, fear, apprehension_.

Quintia counted each of them as they appeared, each of them threatening to take over her; just barely fended off at the very last moment. While they had different names, they had little difference between them, simply being the levels of one emotion.

 _Fear_ , even now she could vividly recall how it crept through her like the coils of some infernal snake. It wrapped around her, choked her like the snake it was when she was within the hands of her tormentors: what would they use to tear her delicate skin open next? Without the protection of her armor or weapons, she was nothing but a fragile humanoid just as breakable as any living being.

While she may have escaped, it remained there, refusing to budge as long as the question she had posed went without an answer to provide the certainty that her powers of observation could no longer give her: it had been ripped from her since they stepped into this temporary haven away from their pursuers.

Sentus Optimus turned his gaze back to the mouth of the cave, the last remaining rays of light from the setting sun casting elongated shadows onto the floor of the cave: the hushed tone of his voice barely above a whisper.

"The Templars are crawling all over this island, and I doubt if they have left our ship, or spared our squadron of soldiers. Our only chances would be to contact Secundus, and hope he would be able to contact the Supreme Commander. However..."

 _This plan would be nothing short of suicide, to deliver ourselves back into the hands of our captors once more: Secundus has already risked everything to get us out of there, this would compromise all of us_.

"There is also a chance that we can wait it out, _in here_." Sentus glanced around them. "Until the point when the Supreme Commander sends a retrieval team here: after all, we have been away for longer than anticipated."

Such was _true_ , yes, Quintia realized. It had been impossible to tell whether it was day or night in the ancient tunnels, but it _was_ possible to know that a _long_ time had passed, at least a week to say the very least -

"Find them! Find both of those clockworks or else the Grand Master will have your heads!"

Instantly, her head snapped toward the direction of the human voices. Judging by the volume of it, they were on their way up the mountain as well, and likely not more than a few miles at max away from their hiding places.

"Silence you fool, they can hear you, and you know how sneaky those metal bastards can be."

The voices seemed to fade away after what was likely only a few minutes - when it felt more like _eons_ for the Captain as she shrunk into the darkest of the shadows within the cave next to the marine - moving further away until they were no more.

 _If there really were fates, those immortals beyond the perception and plane of mortal beings, they must be having quite some time doing all of this_.

Indeed, it almost seemed as though they wished to remind her of the possibilities of being _discovered_ by those Templars soldiers and dragged back into the bowels of the tunnels, back into the hands of her Commander's greatest enemies.

Only one exchange of glances was needed with Sentus for Quintia to know the thoughts that were currently lingering upon both of their minds.

If seeking out the aide of the Armada spy was no more of an option, it leaves them with no other choice but to remain here within the shadows of this cavern. But for _how_ long would they last?

She did not want to even _attempt_ calculating the possibilities.

Attempting to keep most of her weight from leaning onto the wall of the cave, Quintia found herself leaning against Sentus' torso, one of the lieutenant's arms wound around her in what could almost be called a protective manner.

Since Quintia was one of the clockwork race, she never tired, never needed sleep, and so she gazed upon the starry skies as night completely encompassed the island.

Her memories traced back into the past, to precisely three months ago. She would have almost burst out laughing, _bitterly_ , for it was just quite ironic, to say the very least. At that point, she had been so _glorious_ , to say the very least, serving as the secondary leader to squadrons of Royal Guard warriors, those specialized clockworks built by her own creator and Commander Ulysses as the bodyguards of the Supreme Commander.

Few could walk through Cadiz without recognizing the Royal Guards, Quintia recalled, for it was only thanks to the Praetorians, the many assassination attempts by the remaining fractions of the Resistance from actually succeeding. They were always at the frontline, when it came to protecting their commander, just as _she_ was.

Something swelled up within her chest at those memories.

 _Pride_.

The sensation of pleasure, of the joys one would feel whenever they recalled their proudest achievements.

 _I was there to prevent about all of the attempts. And they remembered me_.

Quintia recalled the way that in many of the later attempts by the Resistance, their assassins seemed to make a conscious effort to keep out of her way, how several of them seemed to instantly know who she was when she rushed to engage them; fleeing almost instantly.

How _ironic_ , as the humans would have said, the once glorious captain of the Royal Guards would be reduced down to this, hiding in a cave from a few Templar enemies she would have otherwise killed within a few minutes.

 _Irony at its finest, isn't that what they would say?_

* * *

 **More Quintia and Sentus stuff ;D would they survive this ordeal? Check back later to see, of course, you think I'm going to spoil any of this for you all? Silly XD. Tell me I am not the only one that feels a little bad for putting Quintia through this, you poor girl, forced to mature so fast... Though Ulysses would have been quite proud.  
**

 **Reviews are much appreciated! Until next time!**

 **-Hades**


	15. Chapter 15

Could it get _any_ worse?!

Secundus cursed under his breath once more, gathering whatever he could into his coat pockets and weapon belts - boxes of ammo for his pistols, a few knives within their sheathes - it was _impossible_ to pack anything larger than those, not with those Templars stomping down the halls toward his location right this very second.

 _Damn it all down to the pits of Tartarus in Hades!_

He could not comprehend from _which_ point it all started to go wrong, was it his suspicious activity to them when the lieutenant and the captain escaped? Was the wounds he had inflicted onto himself not enough to convince them?

The questions shot through the Armada spy's head at incomprehensible speeds, to the very point where Secundus simply gave up on attempting to give answers to them.

Slinging the strap of his rifle over his shoulder as he ran down the hallway in the opposite direction of the sound of footsteps, Secundus could have sworn that the blood in his veins had turned into _ice_.

 _Merda, how could I forget the projector?!_

It would be quite an understatement to say that Secundus was angry at himself: he really should have left the projector onboard the _Rose_ , instead of bringing it in here, considering it was the only one he actually owned, as well as the _only_ method for him to contact his superiors.

By this point, retrieving it would be impossible, something that just made the spy wish he could strangle himself for this idiocy.

 _Non capisci un cazzo, Secundus_.

Secundus cursed himself for precisely the twentieth time as he kicked open the door leading out the ancient tunnels, the flimsy wood easily giving out under the strength of his cybernetic limb in a shower of dust and rotten planks, the spy slamming it shut behind him and throwing the chain that had once kept it locked onto the door.

It would not hold them for long, he knew, but _any_ amount of time would be of benefit for him by this point.

"Find that lying dog! I want to tear his flesh from bone myself!"

Adrian's voice called out above all of them, loud and just as arrogant as Secundus had remembered him to be. Though this time, there was something more to his voice, one that sent a shiver down the spy's back. There was no mistaking the true _malice_ in his words, the certainty he would make _sure_ of what he promised happened, if he was to fall prey to those Templars at this point.

Of course, the swashbuckler could very well be simply _bluffing_ about it, although Secundus could not say he would stay around to find out about its credibility.

Heart pounding in his chest and sweat dripping into his eyes, the spy yelped rather loudly and uncharacteristically of himself; nearly stumbling in his run when the sensation of a bullet ripping through his shoulder blade shot through his entire frame. While his limbs were definitely replaced by cybernetic parts, Secundus' torso remained those of a human's, and therefore, the same vulnerability remained.

Just as all the human emotions remained within him - the fear, pride, anger, just to name a few - and in this current time, they threatened to consume him in their unrelenting waves.

The Armada spy did not dare to look back, sprinting down the stairs leading to the docks of the ruin of the pirate utopia: almost breathing a sigh of relief.

His skiff, the _Bloody Rose_ was thankfully still there, still _intact_ , with its scarlet sails and recently reinforced armor and hull; all ready to set off.

 _Just a few seconds would be all that I need, just a few seconds..._

Inwardly, Secundus prayed to whatever god there is for them to take mercy on him, give him a few more seconds (while some other part of the Armada spy could not help but feel utterly _disgusted_. it had taken only so much to send his usually collected militaristic manners to come crashing down?!) as he frantically rushed around the deck, raising the anchors with the internal cranks of the ship operated by the buttons on the side of the wheel.

The sound of the anchor chains completely retracting and freeing the ship could not have came any slower, in his opinion, and the spy swiftly turned the wheel several times to send the _Rose_ moving out of the docks and into the skyways.

 _Cease this, soldier, you need to monitor your wounds -_

Every part of him cried out in protest, screeching in Secundus' mind for him to _cease_ and take care of the profusely bleeding wound in his back, the pain almost enough to paralyze the spy in his place.

Perhaps it was the _fear_ in him, the fear that he would once more be reduced down into that helpless victim within the Isle of Doom so many years earlier, perhaps it was the loyalty he felt toward the Supreme Commander as the soldier of his Armada, but the pain was dulled, numbed even, within Secundus' mind, it was impossible to tell with the frenzied thoughts.

It was truly surprising that he actually managed to pilot the _Rose_ through the skyways, dodging the many Templar ships that now occupied them ever since the pirates were nearly wiped out from the Spiral by the Supreme Commander's final cleansing -

Secundus felt his own two legs give out underneath him as the _Rose_ finally pushed through the stormgate leading to Monquista (for such was the only way to reach Valencia, the other would be to push into the Port Regal skyway, which would require passing a Templar blockade), collapsing onto his side and all but _hyperventilating_.

His heart was thundering within his thin chest, at a ferocity that almost had Secundus fearing it would leap out of it at any given second.

To say that previous situation was _nightmarish_ would be more than fitting. He had truly thought he would _not_ make it for a single second, and that very second was enough to allow the infernal serpent he had kept at bay for so long to shatter every bit of mental defense he had ever put up since he became a spy for the Armada, creeping inside of him and biting at every inch it could reach.

Secundus' single human eye closed for a second. It was possible to think just a little more clearly, with his heart rate slowing back to a normal speed.

The spy forced himself back up with his left arm, pushing his body up into a half sitting position against the side of the ship, the _Rose_ still drifting through the Spiral thread leading into the world.

" _Cazzo!_ "

The wound in his back stung with more pain than he could have ever imagined, and his vision swam before him; one of his hands instinctively flew up to touch the broken skin.

 _Left subclavian punctured_.

It was possible to feel, to _see_ the drops of scarlet red dripping onto the planks that made up the deck of the _Rose_. They splattered into a thousand ruby droplets on the wood, coloring that sleeve of his coat a dark shade of purple.

 _No. No. NO! I made it so far, I won't be terminated here!_

Secundus forced himself back up once more, staggering through the door leading into the captain's cabin -

Dressing the wound was a pain, to say the very _least_ , as he wrapped the bandaging around the area until the spots of red could no longer be seen seeping through the wrapping, after extracting the bullet by digging a red hot blade into his own flesh. However, the spy now supposed it was a better option as opposed to being shot through the throat or heart, to be truthful.

Secundus shivered, though he quickly shrugged it off, buttoning up his black undershirt. He cast a single glance towards his now - bloodstained sleeve, letting out a slight sigh.

 _This won't be fitting to show before the Supreme Commander, not with my position_.

Another shiver ran up his spine at the very thought, his right hand twitching along with the chilling sensation. What _would_ the Commander think of him now - ?

The militaristic part of him pushed it right out of his mind before the thought continued.

 _You are responsible to report all of this to your Commander, soldier, no matter what. And as a soldier of the Armada, should you not be above the influence of those damned human emotions?_

Secundus scowled, casting only one glance to his own torso, raising from his desk and dragging out the chest he had hidden under his bed. The key from his pocket clicked in the lock, and the lid opened without another sound.

The contents of the chest laid in neat folds below a flawless mask, one with a sharply defined face and red painted lips, providing a stark contrast against the pale white of the mask's cheeks.

Delicately lifting the mask out of the chest and laying it atop his bed, Secundus removed his own clothing, replacing it with the elaborately brocaded uniform in the chest, holding it within one hand, his other slinging his rifle over one shoulder (wincing when it brushed over the bandaged wound).

The mask fit flawlessly over his face, the musketeer having donned it in the process of striding once more over to the helms.

 _It won't be too long before I can return to Valencia_.

Secundus noted his surroundings: the _Rose_ was currently drifting through an entire landscape of light orange and yellow, dotted with only a few trees here and there. Such was not exactly _unexpected_ , with how he recalled that Monquista rarely had rain those days, entertaining a nearly desert - like climate nearly year - round.

Tilting his capello to better shield himself from the sun, the Armada spy spun the wheel hard to port, toward the churning stormgate that would lead to the home of the Valencian Armada.

The _Bloody Rose_ responded to his touch almost as well as a trained pet would to the hand of their owner, the skiff turning to the left with flawless grace only something out of Armada craftsmanship could bear.

It inched easily by the Monquistan ships posted there, pressing into the churning stormgate. Not that Secundus expected them to, really, with how the skyway beyond this stormgate was none other than the infamous Avernus Skyways. He usually avoided using this route if possible, though there were also times when this was the _only_ way for the spy to access his homeland -

The sight spread out before him as the _Rose_ pushed into Avernus was something Secundus was sure would have unnerved even the most experienced sailors.

Ship wreckages were virtually _everywhere_ in this skyway, rotten planks of wood drifting aimlessly among the wrecks of the ships unfortunate enough to have met their end here, among the dense fog and the jagged rocks which would surely claim him as well, if not for his own care as he steered the _Rose_ on its familiar path. Inwardly, Secundus thanked his own memories for being so _flawless_ (due to a chip implanted within his skull when he was reborn as the cyborg spy of the Armada).

His fingers tightened around the wheel of the ship.

It was difficult to not _see_ a ship wreckage drift by as he steered the ship, each which poked and prodded at the human part of him -

 _You could become one of those -_

No.

Secundus clenched his jaw, both of his hands tightening around the wheel.

 _Just a little further, and I would be arriving in Valencia_.

It felt as though a massive stone had been lifted from his chest, as the wind faded around him, giving way to show the perfect, emerald green skyways of Valencia.

Secundus had to quite literally _pry_ his hand away from the wheel for a second to take in the sight around him.

Nothing was more welcome, than the sight of the many Armada ships that filled the emerald green skyways after so long.

A smile crossed his lips underneath the mask, the Armada spy turning his ship toward the direction of the massive fortress in the distance. At this distance, Secundus could honestly say, now he certainly can understand why so many of the Templars before him had called this place, the very seat of Armada power, an _intimidating_ sight to behold.

To say that standing before the mechanical fortress known as Cadiz, upon this ship, it would not be exaggerating to say it dwarfed him like being before the home of a god.

This feeling swiftly disappeared, however, when the _Rose_ neared the gates of Cadiz.

"Announce your purpose here and your identity."

"Armada spy Militus Secundus, returning from Skull Island and requesting to see the Supreme Commander's presence immediately."

Yes, it certainly will be _fun_ to try to explain it all to the Commander.

Secundus' hands tightened around the wheel once more, as the gates opened with a mechanical whine to allow the _Rose_ into the docking area of Cadiz.

He could almost swore his heart dropped from his chest and into his stomach, at the sight before him. Indeed, for it was none other than the Supreme Commander in all his intimidating glory, mask and battle regalia included, with one hand resting on the sword at his hip; even with the mask obscuring his face, Secundus was nearly _certain_ the Commander appeared as though he was ready to tear apart the next living being that crossed his path.

"What is it, Secundus?"

The Armada spy had to literally force himself to walk down the gangplank, and drop to a kneeling position on one knee before the Supreme Commander of the Armada. He didn't dare to gaze into those void - like eyes that seemed to burn into the souls of anyone who had the audacity to look into them; keeping his eyes averted and to the ground.

"Commander... I regret to inform you that the Captain Quintia Presidos and your lieutenant Sentus Optimus has fallen prey to the Templars."

Secundus braced himself for a violent outburst from the superior officer. This was _not_ the Commander Kane, but Kane the Second, two very _different_ beings to say the least -

The silence was even more unnerving.

"I tried to free them, but _someone_ raised the alarm."

It was _needed_ for him to continue, much as the spy preferred not have done so, to spare both him and his commander of the awkward silence that would have enveloped the air.

"The captain and your lieutenant fled in the middle of the chaos, but it is _uncertain_ \- "

 _Uncertain_ , the single dreaded word that frightened _any_ clockwork, for it was the absence of statistical numbers and calculations, which they relied on for nearly _everything_.

" - If they survived or not."

"I see. Rise, Militus Secundus."

Those five words made Secundus' heart flip over in his chest. One did not need to be intelligent to notice how these words were so quietly spoken, or how the Commander's hands tightened into fists at his side for a single moment, trembling with just _barely_ controlled _rage_ and panic.

* * *

 **Secundus is back in action, but it would seem that the Templars have discovered his true alliance with the Armada. Who could blame the spy though? He himself carried major information for the Armada, and that Atticus and Adrian are not to known to be in any way caring of traitors if any is caught. Next chapter though we shall see more of how this affects Ulysses, along with a new discovery of something that will make it all the more interesting, along with more Argentius back in action.  
**

 **Reviews are much appreciated, my dear readers! :D**

 **Until next time!**

 **-Hades**


	16. Chapter 16

"That is it, I am sending a retrieving team to the island _now_."

Ulysses' fist slammed down on his desk, and his currently unmasked face twisted, his mouth twitching into a line as his breathing became hurried and panicked. He wouldn't have done this, _no_ , but this was in his own office, with no one else but his mentor Cristobal Auditore present.

White gloved fingers reached toward the comm link attached to his coat collar -

"Commander, no!"

Scarlet eyes met emerald ones.

"Mentor, damn this, for all I know, they could be on the verge of death right now!"

His breathing rate was audible, and _far_ too much so, and his heart was racing within his chest, to the point Ulysses could almost swear it was about to jump out of his torso.

"Commander, I myself _hate_ to say this, but acting too hastily could very well seal their doom."

 _Yes, there is still an amount of chance that they could still be alive, if Mercilus had kept me alive when I was within his dungeons then_.

"What else do you suggest then, mentor?"

Cristobal Auditore was silent, fiddling with the drafting compass in his hand without a word as his gaze turned away from the Supreme Commander's. A nervous habit of the older Assassin, if Ulysses recalled correctly.

"This must be planned out carefully, Commander. Atticus Mercilus is not like that fool of a swashbuckler Adrian Devereaux, if he is to see our forces approach the island, which I daresay could be called his _kingdom_ , what do you think he would do to the prisoners? Knowing him, I doubt if he would let them live, if he had kept them prisoner for so long without sending any requests of ransom."

Ulysses inwardly cursed.

Such was unfortunately _true_ , regarding the Templar Grand Master -

"Supreme Commander."

The Supreme Commander of the Armada spun around to the sound of knocking on the door to his office.

"Enter."

A white garbed Assassin walked in - a Valencian man no older than Septimus himself - saluted him before dropping onto one knee.

"Grand Master, another piece of the El Dorado map has been located."

Within this very instant, Ulysses could almost swore his heart did a backflip within his chest. _Another_ map piece? This would put them only one piece away from acquiring the ultimate power of El Dorado, the island of gold which so many had sought after for so long, and the only thing standing between the Armada's _complete_ domination of the entire Spiral-!

"Where is it...?"

 _If only His Majesty could see this now, see how far his forces have gotten, and how close we are to the domination of the Spiral, to the forging of an empire ruled by clockworks alone_.

The thought drove a knife through Ulysses' chest, just as any memories or thoughts associated with the former Supreme Commander would so often do whenever they came into his mind. Septimus shoved it aside for the time being, however, as this was _not_ the optimal time to go waltzing down the memory lane and wallowing in the guilt that would so often consume his entire being and mind whenever such happened; taking his attention back to the Assassin before him.

"It is located in the world of Grizzleheim, Grand Master, our informants report that it is currently under the hands of the Templar master Estevan Brokenfang, as how many of the locals called him."

Estevan - this name was not one that Ulysses was familiar with in anyway, though if his title as a "Templar master," was of any indication, the Supreme Commander did not dare to underestimate his capabilities.

"I see, is there any other information I must know of this?"

"Estevan commands a force of at least forty Templar soldiers and heads a fortress in the world, Grand Master, at least ten brute soldiers, ten agile guards, and twenty sparkeqibusiers."

The Supreme Commander of the Armada gestured for the Assassin to rise.

"Well done, brother, you have my thanks."

The Assassin bowed his head, turned, and marched out just as silently as he had came.

Ulysses' gaze turned from the Assassin to Cristobal again. While it was undeniable that he was _excited_ , with how his heart was racing within his chest at the thought of El Dorado being so close, it did nothing to wipe the worry from within his mind; to take away the massive boulder sitting upon his chest, crushing his ribs and lungs and leaving his face purpled and gasping for air as much as his memories did.

"Commander, I suggest you remain in Valencia this time, and send a team of trusted Assassins for this map piece retrieval." Cristobal pursed his lips, "As for retrieving the Captain and your lieutenant, Commander, I believe further discussions of this is needed, and I would suggest with all of your elites and perhaps the Captain Octavius himself."

 _Yet time is of the essence here: if something is to happen to either one of them while we are hesitating like this - !_

Septimus did not want to, he truly did not want to imagine what could likely follow this.

"Very well."

Those two words felt like knives passing his lips, sharp and cold and painful.

Cristobal bowed slightly at the Supreme Commander, before backing out of the office of Ulysses and leaving the Lord of Valencia alone with his thoughts.

These thoughts now rushed through his mind in a frenzy, a storm of plans and thoughts that the Supreme Commander could not even distinguish between each other: who would he send to retrieve the map piece? His lieutenant and his daughter?! Where are they now? Are they still functioning or, by the name of the first Supreme Commander he hoped it would not be of this, terminated...?

Ulysses found himself making a sound that was a mix of a growl of frustration and a groan.

If he doesn't at least even _try_ to sort this mess out, both within his own brain and right here in the real world, this mess could only get _worse_.

 _Best begin with the easiest task first_.

Rubbing his still masked temple, the Supreme Commander of the Armada briefly searched over the names of the Assassins currently serving within the Valencian Branch (any other branch would have been too far away, taking too long to answer his calls). A team of twenty Assassins, yes, and a matching number of clockworks, this should prove to be a force formidable for any Templar force.

With that thought in his mind, Ulysses brought one of his white gloved hands up to the comm link clipped to his collar -

"Vitellozo, summon your best men and contact Custos Viridus: prepare yourself for leaving for the world of Grizzleheim."

Vitellozo Marcini was one of the first few human officers Septimus had personally named ever since he had began building the Valencian Empire, and the only Assassin Master who had served the Valencian Assassin Branch ever since Ulysses had built it from the ground up.

" _Acknowledged, Supreme Commander_."

Ulysses pursed his lips as the Assassin on the other end of the comm link acknowledged his order. Who else would he send to lead the mission? The rest of the elites had duties to deal with within Valencia, and he himself had already ran the risk by leaving Valencia for Aquila -

A thought shot through the Supreme Commander's mind, and a grin spread across his lips.

 _Argentius Septimus_.

Yes, that pretty clockwork he had recently acquired from the hands of his enemy. What was more ironic than having one of Atticus' own creations turn against him? Yes, yes, and that would also prove that Argentius was loyal to him, a direct slap to Atticus' face.

A giggle tore its way out of his throat, just like the evening when he had murdered Emilio Barbarigo, when he stood over the corpse of his enemy. The delight, oh the delight that coursed through his veins at the very thought of being able to do so, it felt _good_ , almost as good as the feeling of both of his hands covered in the blood of his enemies.

With that thought in mind, the Supreme Commander pressed down on the comm link clipped to his collar again.

"Report to my office as soon as possible, Commodore, there is a task that must be done."

His hand twitched as it was lowered from his collar.

Within a few minutes, a knock was heard at his door:

"I am here to report, Commander."

Ulysses' smile twisted up into a even wider grin behind his mask. It was impossible to stop it from spreading his lips from ear to ear, and even more so when Argentius stepped in, now dressed in a uniform so very similar to the one Ulysses himself had once wore when he first begun serving in the Armada.

 _His_ marionette. And his forever too.

No part of the Supreme Commander was more pleased with himself at this point. Was it not _his_ power that had twisted Argentius' loyalty to his, binding him permanently to himself? Was it not his prowess that defeated the Templar - made clockwork in the first place?

"Welcome, Commodore Septimus."

 _Irony to its finest degree, isn't it? I was addressed this very same way by His Supreme Majesty himself when he summoned me to take the reins of the Marleybone - Valencia war. And now today I sit upon the throne of the Supreme Commander, using this same title he had addressed me with to another_.

The Supreme Commander took this moment to look over his _perfect_ soldier -

Argentius Domitius Septimus (with Ulysses himself forever chuckling at the irony of his middle name) appeared absolutely _stunning_ in a Commodore's uniform, the black fabric of it perfectly highlighting his amethyst and opal eyes, as well as the silver corona around his eyes. It was... _Impossible_ , to say the very least, to not want to simply cradle his new favorite within the palm of his hands, like how some girls would their favorite little porcelain doll.

* * *

 **A new map piece's location found and a little update on what has been happening in Ulysses' mind. Argentius will get more of a role in the next few chapters, so stay tuned!  
**

 **Reviews are much appreciated :D**

 **-Hades**


	17. Chapter 17

Saluting the Supreme Commander in the fashion that was expected of _any_ soldier of the Valencian Armada, Argentius bowed his head in a gesture of respect.

"How may I serve you, Commander?"

"A new El Dorado map piece have been located in the world of Grizzleheim, Commodore."

 _A map piece...?_

If he recalled correctly, recovering the seven pieces of the map of El Dorado had always been the primary objective of the Armada, as it was said a power of immeasurable strength laid at the heart of this so called Island of Gold. Enough power that if it were to fall into the hands of the Armada, dominating the entire Spiral would be nothing more than just a few battles away.

"I want you to head the squadron to Grizzleheim and recover the map piece, at _any_ cost."

 _I will not disappoint you, Commander_.

"Understood, Supreme Commander, are there any other orders that I must know of?"

The silence that hung in the air between them was _unnerving_ , and Argentius was almost tempted to speak up first, maybe even fabricate some inquiry -

"Who are you loyal to, Argentius?"

The question caught him off guard, both because it was so sudden and so _obvious_. He was the Supreme Commander's soldier, of course, a loyal officer of the Armada until the very end, and he truly could not understand why the Commander would inquire of this.

"My loyalty lies with you, Commander."

Was that _his_ voice that sounded so uncertain?

 _I serve the Armada, I am a soldier to my Supreme Commander_.

The thought within his mind wavered, almost as though he was not exactly _certain_ of this statement himself. It should have been certain, it _should_ have been; and something stirred within the very back of his processor, a jumble of blurred memories Argentius could not differentiate from each other, save for a single image.

It was the image of a man, with a face decorated with scars attained from battles long ago, with a mane of hair and neatly arranged beard. His hard black eyes could only be described as beetle - like, those little insects that would often fly through the skies with their transparent little wings.

 _Atticus Mercilus_.

Argentius had recalled the name only a single second after seeing his face, of course, such is to be expected, as he was a clockwork, with a flawless memory. Yet there was something that truly confused the clockwork:

 _He is your enemy_.

 _Is he? I do not feel as though he is a hostile presence_.

It felt as though there were two forces within him, tearing at him, two different sets of factors, each yielding different results. While normally, this would have made calculation easier, this only served to confuse him further: it brought the question of which of these forces he should adhere to.

Argentius found himself yanked out of his internal thoughts and calculations when the breath was knocked right out of him -

The Supreme Commander's masked face was less than a foot away from his, close enough for him to feel the masked man's steady breathing on his throat. The void - like eyes set within the mask, with the delicate golden corona around it was beautiful, yes, but in this very second, those "eyes…"

In that very second, Argentius was certain if he had a heart within his chest, his heartrate would have skyrocketed. The fear was creeping right back into him, the clockwork could feel its cold grasp writhing within him, around him, its coils wrapping so tight around his body that it became nearly _impossible_ to breathe for that single second.

 _DANGER_.

The signal flashed in panic before his eyes, even more so when the Supreme Commander had brought up his other hand to hold him down; the tip of the dangerously sharp blade extending from his sleeve shining wickedly before his eyes. Argentius had no doubt that it could pierce through his throat without much effort from the commander, a thought that caused his fear to curl its grip around him even _tighter_ , his breathing rate threatening to become audible.

"You are wavering, Commodore."

 _Wavering? But I am loyal to you -_

 _Are you? What about Mercilus? Do you not remember him?_

Mercilus, yes, he was his _previous_ commander, his creator and the one who had sent him into Cadiz, with the intention of assassinating the Supreme Commander who he served now. He was supposed to be his enemy, Argentius remembered, he was supposed to _hate_ him because the Supreme Commander detested him with all of his heart.

"I-I assure you, Commander, I am loyal to you and you alone."

In that very second, Argentius could _see_ why the Supreme Commander said he was _wavering_.

He involuntarily winced when the cool metal of the blade ran along his throat, shrinking away from its touch: gasping as the arm on his throat pressed down just enough to nearly deprive him of the much needed air.

"You remember him, don't you?"

Argentius met his eyes, and immediately wished that he had not. Even with the mask on over his real face, it was possible to feel his eyes staring right back into his, those scarlet, _piercing_ eyes that had haunted him ever since he first witnessed the Supreme Commander removing his mask. Just the way those crimson orbs seemed to _light up_ with what was almost worship at the sight of him, and this one other emotion he was yet to put a finger on.

"I... Do not know who you are speaking of, Supreme Commander."

It was a _lie_ , an obvious one which clearly did _not_ please the supreme leader of Valencia.

Argentius winced, the sensation of his own warm blood tricking down the flesh of his throat alerting him to the blade that was now piercing his skin.

"Do not lie to me, Argentius."

His face was less than a few inches away from Argentius' own by now, and out of what one could say to be _instinct_ , he tried to flinch away.

"Commander, _please_ , I swear I am loyal to you and you alone!"

"You _will_ be, Argentius, because you are _mine_ and mine _alone_."

The _possessive_ edge in the words of Kane the Second was enough to send a shiver down the Armada Commodore's back. It doesn't take anyone too intelligent to figure out what the Supreme Commander meant by his words: he _belonged_ to him, in every way there could possibly be -

"And you will _not_ be going back to that bastard, the one you so call _commander_ and _creator_."

Argentius immediately could feel his entire frame tense up, almost unable to suppress the tremors running through him, tremors of _fear_.

 _How-how did he know? How did he know what I was thinking of? Impossible-!_

"Look at me when I am talking to you, _Commodore_."

Two slender fingers pinched his chin, forcefully turning his head to face the Supreme Commander. Argentius had not even realized he had turned away until _then_.

His attempts to speak only died as strangled sounds within his throat. Argentius had only remembered the Supreme Commander removing his mask _once_ before, the time when he was captured and locked within the dungeons of Cadiz, just shortly before he was released.

The superior Armada officer's true face seemed to have deteriorated even more since the last time. Dark circles of shadow had formed under his bloodshot, crimson eyes, and his pupils had shrunk to _pinpoints_ , his breathing ragged and uneven.

"Remember the fact that you are _my_ soldier, Commodore, and not _his_."

 _Tsing_.

The blade extending from the Supreme Commander's sleeve pressed into his skin, just above one of his main veins and _just_ short of truly piercing the skin.

"I am... loyal to you and you alone, Commander."

It was alien, it was _strange_ to force those words out of his own mouth. They didn't seem to be right, yet it also did feel like something he was supposed to say, and it definitely was not the stress of the current situation forcing those words out of him.

 _Who do I truly belong with_?

The blade was lifted from his throat, and Argentius found himself nearly collapsing onto one knee as he gasped for air, one of his hands flying up to his throat to feel for any more cuts or abrasions there. His gaze was focused on the Supreme Commander, who had set the mask back over his face so instead of scarlet, _human_ eyes, he was met with the void - like gaze of the mask with its golden corona and gold painted lips.

"Report to the docks after three hours, your squadron will meet you there for the retrieval mission."

"As-as how you command, Supreme Commander."

The Armada Commodore stood back up, his legs wobbling slightly as he offered the Lord of the Armada a slight bow of his head before backing out of the office of the Supreme Commander; turning down the halls to his own office and closing the door behind him.

 _Why would he be acting in this fashion...? I am his soldier, I am his officer, an officer of the Armada_.

Even his own voice within his mind sounded _uncertain_ , unsure.

If he truly was loyal to the Lord of the Armada, why was he so uncertain of it? It should have been the obvious, the _certain_ -

Perhaps it was because of his previous Commander, his _creator_ , the Supreme Commander had called him.

For the first time since he was released from the Armada dungeon, Argentius Domitius Septimus allowed himself to remember. He traced back his memories, literally replaying all of them before his eyes. Yes, he could see it all now, and he remembered, he remembered how he stood at the prow of the ship bound for Valencia, dressed in the dark, hooded robe that would serve to conceal his identity.

 _Atticus Mercilus_.

His previous Commander's name, the name he should be hating with all of his being. But why should he hate him, he wondered? Why did he feel so _connected to_ this name, to the face he had only remembered as though someone had downloaded a photograph of him into his processor? And most importantly -

 _How is this possible? I cannot seem to remember anything else beyond that. Nothing beyond when I first set off for Valencia_.

Nothing alarmed Argentius more. He was supposed to have a flawless memory, being a clockwork and not a human, unlike the current Supreme Commander of the Armada that he now served. Again, he tried to recall the memories beyond it, only to receive heavily fogged images, as if he was peering through a dense fog at a scene playing out before him.

He was supposed to remember, some part of him screeched, he was supposed to _remember_ those memories. They were far more important than his current task -

No, he served the Supreme Commander of the Valencian Armada, he was the soldier of Kane the Second and an officer of the Armada. Argentius literally had to snap at himself, to internally speak those words to stop the thoughts in his mind: for as a soldier of the Supreme Lord of Valencia, Kane the Second's will and wish came before anything else.

Bearing this thought in mind, Argentius forced himself to walk away from the door, to his desk, where his belt and his sword laid (its blade secured within a sheath of leather and brass) laid, fastening it around his waist.

There was no doubt that the map piece would not be left unguarded, based on what he had remembered of the Armada archives' records about the acquiring of the previous pieces of the El Dorado map: the undead pirate James Blood held onto one, before it was retrieved by the then Armada Commodore Ulysses Septimus.

 _Armada Commodore Ulysses Septimus, strange how he and I share the very same surname and the very same title. What had happened to him? His name had not been mentioned in the records after the end of the Marleybone - Valencia war. Had he died? Disappeared off the surface of the Spiral?_

Those were only but a few of the questions plaguing his mind, something he pondered over for just a few seconds before the questions from a few minutes ago returned to him.

The _why_ , the reasons behind the strange behavior of the Supreme Commander. Never before had Argentius ever encountered these kinds of emotions, or actions of this nature, and none of it matched any information he had known before.

It was _strange_ , it was _unfamiliar,_ and it was _horrifying_.

* * *

 **Identity crisis much right here? Though I do pity poor Argentius, I put him through so much XD first getting captured and tossed into the dungeons of Cadiz, now he's being stalked by his own Commander and leader who is obsessed with him in more than one way, all while facing a super confused mind about _who am I loyal to gah what should I do_. If the rules of VL/VE universe doesn't hate him I don't know what to say XD.  
**

 **Reviews are much appreciated! :D**

 **Until next time!**

 **-Hades**


	18. Chapter 18

Three hours later, Armada Commodore Argentius Septimus found himself marching toward the docks of Cadiz, wearing a slightly thicker variation of his uniform and a sword strapped to his waist.

Even now, he still could not shake off the questions that ran through his head that had persisted from before -

 _Why_?

It was all but _impossible_ to tell the reason for the Supreme Commander's actions, why he was so confused about his own allegiance. These questions ran through his processor at a speed that even Argentius himself could not even comprehend.

The Armada Commodore forced these thoughts back, stepping on board the Armada frigate that was to take him to the partially frozen world of Grizzleheim.

Each of the clockworks onboard immediately snapped into the Armada salute at his presence, to which Argentius replied with a slight nod of his head. It was strange to be the commander of a force, instead of being a follower and listening to orders, although he could not say it was unpleasant.

 _Power... is nice, to say the very least, it is no wonder now why so many go absolutely mad in their search for it_.

"Your orders, Commodore?"

The speaker was a marine captain by the name of Custos Viridus, the leader of the single squadron of clockworks that would accompany him on this journey. Sometimes, Argentius did find it hard to accept the fact he was one of the few out of the entire Valencian Armada that actually _understood_ and could _feel_ the full spectrum of human emotions.

"Set the coordinates for the world of Grizzleheim."

Their destination was a world that the Armada had just barely started exploring, although an outpost had been built there, and was in the process of construction, as more and more is learned of the world, Argentius could recall so much from reading the records from the archives he had basically buried himself in for the last few days.

The marine, Viridus, nodded in wordless understanding, pivoting and snapping off commands to the crew -

Argentius found himself standing at the starboard side of the ship as the single Armada frigate gained speed, rushing toward the stormgate leading towards their destination.

Wind rushed through the folds of his coat as the ship pushed through the stormgate, entering the purple Spiral thread. If his calculations were all on point, then they would be reaching their destination in about eight hours in total.

Leaving his crew to do their duties, the Armada Commodore closed the door behind himself as he entered his cabin. Like all other Armada ships, the cabin was equipped with a large desk with many drawers and one high backed chair behind it, capable of spinning on its pedestal which was riveted down into the planks of steel making up the body of the ship itself.

The chair gave a just barely audible squeak underneath the weight of Argentius' form as he sat down into it.

 _Why can't I remember anything before that event?_

He could remember being locked in chains in the Armada dungeon, he could remember how the Supreme Commander had stepped into his cell with his golden artifact, that strange item he had not yet seen since his release. Argentius could also remember beyond that, how he had leapt at the Lord of Valencia with his own sword before he was swiftly defeated and stunned into submission by the elite sniper with the red gem in his forehead.

What was beyond these memories escaped him.

The Armada Commodore winced, bringing one of his hands up to rub at the side of his head as if it would help him remember.

The images beyond him being on the ship bound for Valencia was foggy, simply two figures upon a background of what he could only describe as fog. Something _had_ to be hiding those memories from him, it _had_ to be, there was no other reason for this: while this loss of memory could be explained if he was a human, there was no other way it could have possibly transpired given that he was a clockwork.

Then there was also Mercilus, his previous commander. Vividly, Argentius could recall his name, his face and his voice, yet no exact memories of him.

Argentius drummed his long fingers on the wood of his desk.

 _Creator_ , he had remembered the Supreme Commander calling him, _your creator_.

 _The one that brought me into existence, Atticus Mercilus_.

It may have answered one of the many questions currently drifting through his processor, although it did little to prevent more of them from surging back -

The pain that shot through his head was excruciating. It seared his innermost workings, the delicate wires within his processor to a point that Argentius almost feared it would shut him down completely. However, in the haze of the pain, the Armada Commodore remembered something.

It was more of a brief flash than a full memory.

 _A darkened chamber, lit by only torches. He could see the cracks between the stones that had built the chamber, see the ancient mortar used to seal them together like the pieces of a puzzle. Something cool and hard was underneath him, a table, yes._

 _With a single hand, he had pushed himself up_ -

The memory flickered to nothingness.

Nothing made sense from this. It served nothing to explain the near _hostility_ the Supreme Commander had displayed, why he hated Atticus so much and expected Argentius to do so as well, save for perhaps the old grudge between the Templars and the Assassins (which likely would not even apply, for while the Assassins are loyal to the Supreme Commander, it did not mean he was _with_ the Assassin cause).

Argentius pushed himself up from his seat, pacing the length of his cabin.

 _Why?_

 _Why?_

 _Why?_

So many questions, so many unknown factors, more than there were known factors in this mess. It was difficult, it was _useless_ to attempt to calculate the answers to all of these questions. Argentius could just not bring himself to give up, though. He _had_ to find out the answers to all of this, to sort out this mess.

It was not just that he wanted to bridge the gap between the known and unknown factors within his mind, it was also to sort out the jumbled mess within his own processor, all the _why_ questions floating through it and haunting his every moment.

Argentius' thoughts were cut short by the light, but still noticeable beep coming from the comm link clipped to his uniform collar; switching it on with one hand.

"Commodore Septimus, standing by and listening."

"Commodore, we are approaching Grizzleheim, and will be landing in an hour and two minutes."

"Acknowledged."

Argentius turned the comm link off after he spoke. This would be a good time to turn off all of his trips down to the depths of his processor, yes, for he was still a soldier of the Supreme Commander, was he not? He was bound to follow each and every one of his commands, to carry out his will and ensure each and every one of his assignments given to him was completed to the very best of himself.

The Commodore's hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

They would be landing in the world soon enough, and likely diving right into a battle, and there was no such thing as being _too_ prepared.

Stepping out of the door of his cabin, Argentius brought a hand up to hold his capello down as the winds whistled by. Grizzleheim wasn't as harsh as the lands of Polaris by the terms of climate, however, though it certainly was still cold enough for snow to land and solidify upon the lands, as the Armada frigate the _Vengeance_ followed along the very fringes of the land, concealed by a thin layer of fog.

It was not long before a jolt went through the deck underfoot, announcing their arrival to the only fully constructed Armada outpost in the world.

"Commodore."

The one greeting them was a marine, a sergeant Commander by the appearance of his armor. He snappeds into the Armada salute as the crew of the _Vegeance_ disembarked onto the docks.

Returning his salute, words fell from Argentius' lips smoother than he had ever expected.

"Here by the orders of the Supreme Commander to retrieve the El Dorado map piece."

"Acknowledged, Sergeant Commander Presidos Limus reporting for duty and at your command."

The other soldiers of the outpost had formed an isle for him to proceed through, Argentius marching through with Viridus' soldiers trailing him -

For not the first time that day, the comm link on his collar had beeped again, the Commodore clicking it on without taking his eyes off the path before him leading to the headquarters of the clockworks here in Grizzleheim.

"Commodore."

The one word was enough to send a shiver down his back.

"Supreme Commander."

"Upon your arrival at the world, be expecting a visit from one of my Assassins, he will point the way to the map piece, but it won't be without some resistance against you. Show me what you have, what you know, prove to me that you are _worthy_ of this uniform you wear."

"As how you command, Supreme Commander."

Argentius could not say that he had _not_ expected there to be some sort of force guarding the piece of El Dorado map. After all, that was well known throughout the Spiral as the objective of the entire Valencian Armada: it was obvious to anyone with even half of a clockwork's processing power that the enemies of the Armada would _fight_ to keep those pieces out of the hands of the clockworks.

It was nearly _laughable_ , as how humans would have put it, how those fools believed that they could keep the Armada away from their objective even _temporarily._

* * *

 **More Argentius and his adventure in Grizzleheim! He certainly is not one to mess with, am I right? Consider the fact he was still made to be a Templar clockwork, and the Knights Templar aren't exactly a group to take mercy on anyone.**

 **Also, heads up to anyone around here who reads Percy Jackson series or plays the game Dishonored (which, by the way, is one of the best games ever), be on the look out, since I may just be uploading some fanfic(s) about either one of those sometimes soon in the future, and very likely a one shot collection called "Interludes" which will fill in the gaps in VL/VE chapters. But before all of that, it is certain that I will be writing the requests I have been given (which is friends only, sorry, and _one must be allied with the Armada_ ) and the prequel to Ulysses' three part saga.**

 **Anyway I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and reviews are much appreciated! :D**

 **-Hades**


	19. Chapter 19

Three days had passed.

Three days of pure _apprehension_ , of the dread weighing down on both herself and the lieutenant. Briefly, Quintia Presidos wondered if this was how a game animal would feel when they were being hunted down.

For what was most certainly not the first time ever, Quintia laughed inwardly, _bitterly_. This situation was just getting more and more ironic the more she had taken it into consideration.

How many times had she led the Royal Guards through the hallways of Cadiz, through the streets of Valencia at night hunting down the Resistance agents still left within the fair capital of the Empire? _She_ was the one so feared then, the one _delivering_ fear instead of the one _feeling_ the fear, she was the _hunter_ instead of the _hunted_ like she was now.

 _Is this what the humans called "karma"? If so, then it truly has worked well against me_.

Perhaps this was revenge against her for hunting down so many Templar soldiers in her short period of function. Since the destruction of Skull Island, Quintia had struck down more Templar soldiers than one could ever hope to calculate, so many that even she herself did not wish to recall the number that had fallen into her hands.

Quintia craned her neck slightly to glance at the shadowy figure of Sentus Optimus, seated against the side of the cave they were currently hiding in, his armored form just barely visible within the darkness, the single cybernetic eye that had long replaced one of his human eyes shimmering with the same eerie light as his armor.

Once more, those questions that had haunted her for the past few days begun to creep back within her mind.

 _How much longer would it take for the Supreme Commander's forces to find us?_

It was impossible for the elite court of Valencia to _not_ have taken notice of how _long_ she and Sentus Optimus were taking with this _simple_ mission that should have taken at a week to accomplish at maximum. Then, there was also the question of _if_ they would be able to survive until a retrieval team had been sent to bring them back to Valencia.

"Lieutenant."

The one short word was enough for Sentus to turn his masked face toward hers.

However, before the Royal Guard captain could actually speak, both of the Armada officers found themselves freezing up entirely at the sound of footsteps in the distance, perhaps no more than half a mile from where they had hidden themselves within the Skull Cave. Both of them stood _perfectly_ still as they listened.

"Search the area thoroughly, they could be anywhere."

Ruthless enemies did not frighten Quintia, no, as this was to be expected of a soldier in war, yes, but from the speech pattern of this particular Templar was cold and organized, nowhere near the bellowing of those brutes that could be sso easily outwitted by even the simplest soldier of the Armada.

She turned her gaze to the darkness, over the relative location of Sentus Optimus once more.

Sentus simply held up one finger to where his mouth would have been, had he not worn a mask over the majority of his face.

It felt like an eternity before the sound of footsteps faded too far away to be heard.

Then and only then did Quintia allow herself to relax.

 _That was far too close._

This was not the only time in the past three days that Templar activity had picked up near this very area, but this certainly was the _first_ time since their escape that they had came so close to where they were hiding now, and if her processor had not yet truly fallen apart, Quintia was certain that those Templars were closing in around them, like predators would around prey.

"Lieutenant, if the Templars ever attempt to capture us again... run, I will keep them distracted."

Sentus Optimus' only human eye flew wide, and he crept closer to her position before he spoke.

"Captain, why do you speak so...? The Supreme Commander could not bear to lose any more, you and I should know better than anyone else."

 _But those wounds that I have suffered, I cannot fight as well as you do, therefore I would be nothing more than a nuisance. And you are his lieutenant, you have fought alongside him longer than I ever have, and there isno doubt you would also mean more to him as a comrade and officer._

"Your words are true, lieutenant, but my wounds will not permit me to fight with my potential, and therefore I would be nothing but nuisance and an obstacle."

Indeed, while the wounds on her back had healed over the last few days, they threatened to reopen at any slightest movement, as compared to the lieutenant of the Supreme Commander who had been barely scathed in the process save for a few cuts and bruises.

"Captain, you are his _daughter_ , his dear, beloved child. Already he has lost the former Supreme Commander, his wife, his blood child, do you think he can bear to lose any _more_?"

Such was unfortunately _true_.

Quintia could remember, in all the vivid details, how she had stormed into the throne room after the assault on Cadiz, with a team of fifteen Royal Guards trailing her -

Only to find her own creator kneeling in the very center of the chamber, cradling the terminated frame of the then Supreme Commander Kane himself within his arms the way a lover would, _completely_ and utterly _broken_ by this. It had almost seemed that someone had ripped all the wounds upon him and within him wide open that very evening.

While it may have appeared to some that he had managed to piece himself back together, to show he was still strong enough to carry out what he proclaimed was the final wish of the Supreme Commander, Quintia knew it was anything _but_ that. She knew he had become different ever since that very day, oh she knew _far_ too well.

For she had stood there by her creator's side as he had drawn out the plans for what would come to be known among the soldiers of the Armada as the Great Cleansing. It was a ruthless, _brutal_ plan even by the standards of the Armada, and her creator had carried it out without even batting an eye, as how the humans would have said, returning the next day, near the high afternoon, to Cadiz drenched in blood.

"But better the sacrifice of me, lieutenant, than both of us perishing."

Quintia was surprised that her voice was so _steady_ , even at the thought of possible termination at the hands of their enemy.

"Captain, it is not wise to think in such a pessimistic manner."

Sentus' right hand laid itself on her shoulder.

"There is still a chance that he would come for us, Captain, it is impossible for them to not have noticed that we are still gone. We simply need to wait a few more days, perhaps even until tomorrow."

There was no denying that maybe they would have a chance out, yes, this small strand of what the humans called _hope_ welling up deep inside of her. There was no way the Supreme Commander, her _father_ , would not have acted up by now, perhaps he was simply gathering his forces and preparing to launch a retrieval assault on this island soon -

 _Have you fallen so far as to depend on an uncertain, human concept such as this?_

Hope was a human concept, a foreign one that Quintia had yet to depend on in her short period of function, this wishful thinking, if such were even appropriate terms for it, that tomorrow would be better than today, that today's situation would definitely improve later. And she was a _clockwork_ , she was supposed to be _beyond_ all of this.

Quintia allowed herself to rest on her side, but even then, it sent a jolt up her entire frame. Every move made the wounds on her back and sides sting: it only served to further ascertain the fact she would not be able to fight properly, if the Templars were to ever close in on the both of them.

"I won't let those fools take you, not when he had lost so much already... Is it not my responsibility to ensure that those who he holds dear is preserved? I am his lieutenant, and he has entrusted me with your safety."

She didn't need to look toward the lieutenant to see the determined way his single human eye shone. Silently, Quintia willed herself to believe in his words, that they both would make their way out of this. It was all only a matter of _time_.

"Sentus, tell me, how much more has the Commander lost...?"

 _I have only barely in function for little more than a year, there are bound to be matters regarding my creator, the Supreme Commander of the entire Valencian Armada that I do not know about, after all, he is not the sort of man who would reveal his past to all_.

Sentus Optimus fell silent, turning his head away even when Quintia's gaze found his.

"It is not the most pleasant of all histories there is, just know that he has lost more than just the former Supreme Commander in the past."

* * *

 **Quintia's POV again, poor girl, she really goes through a lot, doesn't she? And poor Cpt. Optimus, having to hold up most of the situation in this. But what shall their fates be? ;D check back and you shall know!**

 **Until next time, my dear readers!**

 **-Hades**


	20. Chapter 20

Only five hours had passed since their arrival in the partially frozen world of Grizzleheim, five hours of absolutely nothing. It was _far_ too peaceful, in Argentius' opinion, there was _no_ possibility that whoever was guarding the map had _not_ seen them coming from at least a mile away.

The Armada Commodore's steps creaked as he stepped off the battlement surrounding the Armada outpost. It was possible to see a figure dressed in the robes of an Assassin approaching in the distance, no doubt this was the informant that the Supreme Commander had spoken of when they had arrived -

"Commodore Septimus: Aurelio Portanova, reporting for duty."

Argentius' right arm snapped into the Armada salute as the grey cloaked Assassin walked through the gates.

"The Supreme Commander has spoken to me about you before, shall we speak inside?"

Aurelio's steps trailed Argentius' own as the two made their way into the first chamber of the outpost, the Armada Commodore seating himself behind the desk and the Assassin taking a seat on a chair nearby; lowering his hood.

"Commodore, the map piece is currently being held in a Templar base about three miles northwest of our present location. It is guarded by the Templar Master Estevan Brokenfang."

Aurelio's fingers interlocked, his green eyes locking directly upon the Commodore's amethyst ones, and for a very brief second, Argentius was nearly _certain_ that he had seen a hint of _doubt_ in the human's emerald colored orbs. The assassin was swift to turn his face away, however, as if he realized that he had permitted it to show within his eyes.

When the Assassin's gaze turned back to Argentius' own, the emotions within it were gone, wiped away and replaced by a calmness almost too _eerily_ similar to the attitude often held by the Supreme Commander of the Valencian Armada, Emperor of the Valencian Empire, when he _wore_ his mask, of course. Right there and then, however, the thought of the Commander, Kane the Second, sent a jolt down Argentius' spine.

Could he ever forget that sight? That gaunt face, distorted by what he could only describe as a lust for _him_ , for his very being. It was _burned_ into his processor, into his memory in all clarity, far too clear, to the point that Argentius was more than tempted to curse his ability to remember, to recall _every_ second of his memory, everything that had ever happened to him -

 _"Perfetto..."_

 _"You are MINE_. _"_

Argentius forced these thoughts out of his memories:

"This man, Estevan Brokenfang, what kind of combatant is he?"

 _To win a battle, there is no better way than to know of the enemies' prowess in combat, and then to turn their weaknesses against them: while there are warriors of insurmountable power, everyone, particularly humans, is bound to have weaknesses in combat._

Aurelio's shoulders relaxed, finally turning his face to him.

"The Templar master is, if you are seeking to categorize him, Commodore, a privateer of the utmost skill, at least for someone who is stationed here in Grizzleheim. If my memories do not fail me, he is quite skilled at inspiring his soldiers to do virtually _anything_ for him, even if it includes sacrificing themselves so he could make a getaway."

 _Then he is either a coward or a skilled manipulator, this is not leadership. A leader should inspire their followers and prove themselves to be an example to those under their leadership_.

"Acknowledged, but what of his prowess in combat by himself?"

"A formidable foe, to say the very least, his skill with a longsword is not to be ignored."

Such a cumbersome weapon was indeed dangerous in the hands of a skilled user, Argentius noted inwardly, but it could be countered just as easily with agility and precision. However, if this Estevan really was a skilled a privateer as this Assassin was painting him to be, his soldiers could pose a rather large problem.

"I see, then is there any other information I must know of?"

"Such is all that I have to offer, Commodore."

The Armada Commodore brought one arm up in an Armada salute.

" _Grazie_ for your aide, I am sure the Supreme Commander would be pleased to hear of this."

Aurelio rose, bowing his head before speaking.

"It is my honor and my duty to serve His Imperial Majesty, ruler of the Valencian Empire and the lord of the Assassin Order - "

The sound of the alarm cut off whatever words the Assassin had left to speak. Argentius' hand immediately flew onto in the hilt of the sword clipped to his side, storming out of the outpost building. He was not exactly surprised this had happened, truly, considering it had been far _too_ peaceful for too long already -

Already, Presidos Limus had snapped off his commands to the other clockworks, and a row of snipers had positioned themselves above the battlements, with a marine positioned next to each of them to protect them, firing down upon enemies Argentius had yet to see.

Storming up the stairs, it certainly had not taken Argentius long to peer through the slight layer of fog to see who was stomping toward them.

A group of Templars, by the mark of the scarlet cross they bore on both their armor and their flags. Perhaps about fifty men in total, nearly matching the strength of the number of clockworks positioned here, though the Armada Commodore would not put it past them to have some extra tricks up in their sleeves.

"Your orders, Commodore?"

Argentius spun around, facing Viridus. Something had jolted within him at this sight, for he could now recall an entirely new chain of memory files on his processor, and none of those were anything he had recalled looking through when he was in the archives: all sorts of strategies, battle plans to counter those sorts of attacks -

"Pick off the leaders of this assault first, then send a squadron of marines out to confront them, storm their lines as fast as possible, give them no time to react, I shall personally head the assault squad."

 _Without leaders, even the most organized group of warriors will fall into chaos, and when chaos reigns, destroying them is nothing short of easy pickings._

Within mere seconds of issuing the command, the Armada Commodore's fine tuned senses picked up on the sound of humans screaming, screaming as they were shot down by the Armada snipers with lethal precision, each shot guaranteed to pick off at least one man: metal armor jingling as they fell off their horses and the snow crunching under their bodies of flesh as they were felled by the Armada clockworks.

Even at this distance, it was possible for Argentius to see the color of red spreading slowly over the once flawlessly white snow from the ruined skulls of the Templar generals, blood with grey bits of brain matter from the wounds ripped open by the snipers, their bodies twitching once or twice like the corpses of freshly slaughtered pigs before they stilled completely.

Still, however, the sound of sniper rifles going off never relented, thunderous enough so that it was nearly impossible for Argentius to even tell where they were coming from; they were all around him, echoing endlessly as the night was turned into a bloody display of carnage in the once peaceful world.

" _Ora!_ "

Argentius found himself snapping off the command who knows how long later, perhaps a few seconds, or perhaps a few minutes later; storming off the battlement with his sword already drawn, until he joined the squadron of marines that were to storm into the Templar ranks, which by now had fallen into pandemonium and chaos. Judging from the _desperate_ shouts of humans in the distance, some of them were attempting to bring order back amongst them -

"Stand your ground, those pieces of scrap metal are no match for us!"

"Damn it, stand, stand, men! Do not run away like children before those toy soldiers!"

The gates of the outpost swung open like a pair of arms, showing the clockworks the way to their enemies. It was then, Argentius found his previous hypothesis, how the ranks of Templar soldiers were falling into disarray from the deaths of their leaders: men trampled over each other in attempts to flee the bloodstained snow of the battlefield, their eyes wide open and darting between themselves and the clockwork squadron as well as the Armada Commodore himself, some of them so fast it almost seemed possible that they could snap their own necks this way.

Argentius felt no remorse as he fell upon the men, even those who had fallen to their knees before him, not even when his processor _acknowledged_ their pleas for mercy.

"Spare me, Commodore, spare me!"

"Oh please, I still have children at home-!"

Each one of them he had struck down, without what the humans would have called _mercy_. Argentius swiped the blade across the throat of one of the men, then spun around, sheathing his sword into the body of another. The first gagged, one hand flying up to his throat, his eyes impossibly wide before his body went limp, drops of scarlet red still dribbling, spilling out of the wound the Armada Commodore had cut into his throat and onto the snow, turning its tiny crystals a vibrant shade of red.

Turning his attention onto another foe, Argentius found himself swiftly sidestepping to avoid his sword's strike, the Templar _barely_ having enough time to recover before the Commodore had driven his sword through his chest, blood pouring out of the wound like a torrential fountain when the weapon was removed.

As he slashed and hacked and stabbed his way through the humans, Argentius Septimus found himself _relishing_ it all. It made the blood in his veins race oh-so-pleasantly, with each human he fell, each throat he had slit without a hint of remorse or even the slightest emotion.

It felt _right_ , like he was _built_ to cause such carnage.

 _Those worms deserved their end for challenging my Commander's power, they deserve to have their throats slit open like this, like the animals they are_.

And that thought was the same, like it was _supposed_ to be there, lurking within the depths of his processor and directing his every move.

The Armada Commodore did not question it.

Still, he slashed and ripped a bloody path through the battlefield, looking into the eyes of each and every one of the men he felled with his blade, watching as the light faded out of them, only to leave a pale reflection of his amethyst colored ones behind -

It was far too soon before each and _every_ Templar soldier that had participated in this assault laid _dead_ in the snow, some of them having their heads shot into a million little pieces of skull and brain matter, others with their throats slit open, blood still gushing out of some of the newly slain ones.

Briefly, Argentius wondered:

 _How many of those died by my hands_?

He could not say.

"There are no more survivors, Commodore."

Viridus' monotone almost sounded louder than usual behind him, perhaps it was because that there were no longer any humans left around, no more living beings, save for his own clockwork soldiers.

"Clean the bodies away, ensure there are no traces of this battle remaining."

 _For if anyone is to know that we are here, or even figure out the map was here, I dread to think of the results_.

It had not taken the clockworks long to clean the bodies away, leaving behind only large patches of red on the snow where they once laid, some of them a darker shade of red than the others. Argentius supposed this would not matter by this point, considering a already steady downfall of snow had begun: if his calculations were correct, at this rate, the snow would cover the patches of red.

 _There is only one way to stop any more of those assaults from happening, an_ _d that would be to strike them before they could recover_.

* * *

 **Argentius is a rather interesting character in this sense, isn't he? On one hand, horrified of the Supreme Commander, yet still a brilliant tactical leader and warrior.**

 **Be sure to leave a review if you enjoye this chapter! Until next time!**

 **-Hades**


	21. Chapter 21

Argentius was glad his vision was better than a human's at night.

The Armada Commodore's boots crunched in the snow with each step, a squadron of twenty marines and a matching number of musketeers tailing him closely: guided by nothing more than a holographic map with the coordinates supplied by the assassin Aurelio.

 _Strike first before they know it_.

Argentius was almost certain that they would not expect an attack after their failed attempt on attacking the Armada outpost. If anyone followed the pattern of a human's thinking, a human would be more than alerted after an attack like that, they would increase their defenses instead of launching another offensive -

 _Humans may be the most unpredictable of all species inhabiting the Spiral, but their pattern of behavior can be predicted in situations such as this_.

Stepping over a fallen log, the Armada Commodore held his left hand up, halting the squadron that had been following him.

From this location, it was possible to see the fire of the Templar outpost in the distance, burning brightly in the night from one of the many guard towers: a move otherwise would have been wise, frightening off bandits and everyone else without a force strong enough to move them, if it wasn't for the fact those Templar fools currently faced the forces of the clockwork Armada.

The Armada, the eternal standing, singular greatest armed force in the Spiral, immortal and undying, more than a match for a force of human extremists.

"Approach silently, do not spring for attack until we are in range."

 _Use well the element of surprise, and nothing can stand against me_.

It was almost impossible to hear their soft sounds of movement as the clockwork forces advanced on the Templars.

Before long, they stood no more than thirty feet away from the gates of the fortress, with its few sentries looking almost as though they were about to doze off into sleep.

This was _certainly_ good for the forces of the clockwork Armada -

"Leave no survivors!"

Argentius's command echoed through the forest, his voice strangely loud in the quiet night air that would soon turn into the background for a scene of _slaughter_ : the clockworks charging forth to engage their enemies, several Templars scrambling away to raise the alarms for their _comrades_.

 _Let them come, let them come to us, our purpose here is to take control of his fortress and the map pieces, is it not?_

Templar soldiers piled towards the Armada Commodore, towards the lines of marines shielding the much more delicate musketeers, snipers, and marksmen, brandishing their swords and shouting their battle cries.

It had only taken that much for everything to cascade into carnage and destruction.

The Armada Commodore found himself rushing through enemy lines, cutting Templars down left and right and spraying jets of their blood into the air with each and every stroke of his sword. Armor was sliced through as though it was nothing but wet parchment, leaving the flesh underneath to be easily slashed into ribbons by Argentius' own sword and the halberds of the marines.

A singular flash of pain nearly forced Argentius to drop his sword: his head snapping toward the right of him, just in time to see the form of a Templar soldier with a sword in hand, still swinging viciously at him. The weapon's blade was covered in drops of scarlet blood, and he had just managed to bring his own sword up to block the swing.

Showers of sparks rained between the blades, and Argentius launched a single kick at the man's knee.

The man's shout of pain was lost among the battle din, and he dropped to his other knee just long enough for Argentius to slam his blade into the man's throat with a single stroke.

As the Templar's sword slipped out of his hands, deep green eyes met Argentius' own amethyst ones.

In that very second, Argentius' emotionless facade threatened to crumble.

It was impossible to describe how the human man's face contorted, his mouth falling agape as a name fell from his lips, a name that even though half of his own memories were hazy and impossible to discern, the Armada Commodore could still recognize.

 _Alexander_.

 _How do they know who I am?_

And most importantly, _how did they know his previous name_ \- ?

Argentius' thoughts were, once more, interrupted by the lethal song of a blade flying through the air toward his neck, forcing him to drop down to the ground, just _barely_ feeling the blade brushing over the top of his head; the coolness of the metal sending another chill down his back.

Blood colored large patches of his uniform coat maroon as the Armada Commodore shot back up into combat stance.

There were a few survivors still fighting around them, rather valiant, but also rather foolish, considering how the _entire_ interior of the fortress was literally _drenched_ in the blood of their enemies, some of them with heads removed, and others with their torsos slashed wide open to leave their insides spilling out like coils of fat snakes. There were also several that had large holes blown into their torsos.

Argentius quickly sheathed his sword.

It would appear their job was done here -

"Commodore."

The Armada marine standing before him snapped into an Armada salute.

"We have captured the Templar master Estevan Brokenfang. He has managed to terminate seventeen of our soldiers, eight musketeers and nine marines - "

 _So indeed he is a skilled combatant, as few humans can take on so many clockworks, with how slow their reaction times are when compared to the processing speed of a clockwork soldier, and survive. And to think such loyalty lies with the Templars... It would be much too dangerous to leave him alive, as it definitely takes loyalty to stand with a dying cause such as theirs_.

"Have we acquired the map piece that we came here in search of?"

"Affirmative, Commodore."

"Then I want the Templar master executed _immediately_ , lest he poses a threat to the Supreme Commander's plans."

"Order acknowledged."

Argentius' gaze turned back to the scene of carnage before him.

Empty, hollow, such were the only sensations left within him. These deaths could have been avoided, had those fools not chosen to launch their attack on the Armada and remain so staunchly loyal to their dying cause.

Though, the Armada Commodore would not deny, the spilling of their enemies' blood was also something that was rather... _satisfying_ -

The burst of white hot pain that shot through his processor was nearly impossible to control and suppress: taking each and _every_ bit of his own willpower to not show it outwardly. However, the series of memories that flooded back with the ferocity of a tsunami was partially enough to distract Argentius from the pain.

The Commodore leaned against the closest wall he could reach, one of his hands flying up to the side of his head, almost impossible to feel the pain of his own fingers clawing at the synthetic flesh as he watched the memories unfold right before his eyes.

 _"Awake, Alexander Mercilus, my proudest creation yet, you shall be the one to topple the Supreme Commander Kane II from his golden throne in the confines of Valencia."_

 _The face of the Grand Master Atticus Mercilus loomed before him, his right hand reaching out to help him sit up from the table. He was made to serve him, he was made to be his loyal soldier and therefore he would do anything for him, even if it meant he might just perish in the process. It was only right, was it not? He is his soldier, his creation_.

The memory faded.

Argentius gasped, as though he had been deprived of air for more than just a few minutes, which was exactly untrue.

 _Who do I belong to then?_

He belonged to the Supreme Commander of the Valencian Armada -

 _Atticus made you, hence you serve him and not Kane II_.

His deepest programming _demanded_ , screamed at him: he was the Supreme Commander's soldier, he was one of his officers.

 _Return to your original Commander, finish the mission he had given you!_

"Return to base with the map piece."

This internal battle would only be futile, it was something that likely would only result in a eternal battle between his two sides. It would be nothing short of an _obstacle_ in the path of him finishing the task he had been assigned and recently completely: if any of his soldiers were to realize their leader currently faced a battle deep within himself that could possibly result in a bloody tie -

Argentius forced the thought back.

 _Return to base, for now, return to base_.

* * *

 **Identity crisis from Argentius' part, with a extra dash of gore! Things will about to get a little more interesting from this point on, so stay tuned.  
**

 **Reviews are much appreciated, and until next time! :D**

 **-Hades**


	22. Chapter 22

The relief that washed through Argentius upon re-entering the capital of the Valencian Empire could not be described by human words.

Wind rippled through his uniform coat, lightning flashing in the distance in a way not so unexpected of the world of Valencia, the home of eternal storms: moist wind puffing softly against his face.

Armada ships patrolled the skies of Valencia, overwatching each and every inch of this fair empire ever so vigilantly: each and every single one of these clockworks the loyal soldier of the Supreme Commander Kane II, silent and unwavering -

 _Who do you serve?_

Argentius' fingers tightened into a fist at his side. As much as the journey back to Valencia had been smoother and shorter than their voyage to the world of Grizzleheim, it had done little to help him keep his mind off of the battle currently raging within him, and perhaps had only made it worse.

Seeing all these other soldiers of the Valencian Armada only brought the questions back within his processor, those questions of _where_ he belonged, and _who_ he truly served. Was he truly the soldier of the Supreme Commander Kane II, a loyal clockwork of the Armada the way his programming seemed to dictate -

Or was he Atticus' follower, as how those flashes of memory stated?

It was all too confusing, this jumble of memories.

There were far too many questions unanswered, stretching the gap between the known and the unknown factors to a degree far too large to be good.

To any outside observer that may have been watching them as the ship pulled into the docks of the clockwork fortress of Cadiz, the Commodore would have appeared as any clockwork of the Armada should - tall, straight, silent and emotionless - while he was all _but_ that.

Each of his steps felt like weights had been strapped to his legs, dragging him down even more with each and every single step he had taken toward the Supreme Commander's office. After all, the Emperor of the Valencian Empire had given him a _order_ , for him to report back to him first thing after his return to the empire's fair capital.

With this guiding him, Argentius passed the pair of Royal Guards posted by the entrance of the building that was the primary headquarters of the Armada, and the home of the Armada elites. By this point, it was simply a mechanical march toward the heavy double doors of the Supreme Commander's study.

 _Down the hallway, turn right_.

There, the heavy oaken doors loomed before them, shut tightly - even though the Armada Commodore could sense the presence of the Supreme Commander behind it: his heartbeat ever so steady, the sound muffled by the double door.

Argentius found himself halting in his tracks, however, a moment later.

Somehow he had failed to pick it up as he made his way toward the doors, right about where he stood now, directly outside, but he could hear the sound of voices, each syllable and word as clear as day.

"How many more pieces are still out there?"

"After the Commodore returns, there will only be one piece out of our reach, Commander."

Silence, then a string of barely suppressed, high - pitched sounds that took Argentius several minutes to realize was the Supreme Commander's laughter. Even in _his current state_ , it was nigh impossible to deny that his voice had a certain silken quality to it, with his Valencian accent thick with each word:

 _He isn't wearing his mask_.

The realization came upon the Armada Commodore mere seconds after he had picked up on the sound of the Supreme Commander's voice. Argentius could only recall a small handful of times when the Emperor of the Valencian Empire had removed the flawless mask from his _thin_ , gaunt face, one of those times being when he was captured and held prisoner within the dungeons of Cadiz.

Gloved hands curled into fists at the memory.

 _Why_ he was imprisoned in the dungeon, he recalled, was due to the fact he had attempted to assassinate the Supreme Commander. He had attempted to remove him from his throne, only to be subdued by the hands of the human now leading the clockwork forces of Valencia with a few quick strokes of his blade.

 _The force slamming into his stomach was inhumanly strong, throwing him back against one of the massive pillars in the throne room: only a little short of shattering his spinal column with the sheer force of it_.

Argentius felt it, he felt the jolt of pain up his back, the phantom pain left behind from the incident. One of his hands reached behind him, tracing his fingertips along the area where his body had struck the column in the throne room. There were no wounds, no markings of any kind left on his skin from the impact.

Everything was falling into place like pieces of a puzzle, even the scattered memories that he had just barely preserved after they had flashed before his eyes. It made sense as to why he was so torn between them, between the Supreme Commander and the one that had created him, Atticus Mercilus -

"Commander, we must also not forget that El Dorado is not far away from becoming the property of the Armada, as how it supposed to have been since the very beginning."

 _El Dorado? Yes, after all, there is only one last piece remaining that is not yet in the hands of the Armada_.

"Once Argentius brings it back, yes - "

Another barely stifled laugh, airy and without true emotions behind it. Only a _madman_ would have been able to produce this kind of sound, and this _particular_ madman was none other than the _Supreme Commander of the Armada._

 _His stability is practically nonexistent by this point_.

His stability - such had not existed when the Supreme Commander had altered his alliance, and such was even _more_ so at this point in time. Despite his current location outside of the door of the Lord of Valencia's study, Argentius could _hear_ it in his words, as clear as the storms that would _oh so often_ rage over the fair capital of the Valencian Empire.

"Commander..."

Silence.

 _He will know that you are there_.

The logical part of his processor was all but screaming at him to get away, to turn around and make his way back to his own office before the Supreme Commander exited from the chamber, before he could _catch_ him here eavesdropping on the private conversation between him and the lieutenant commander Servius Decimus (as there was _no_ other officer in Cadiz that had a voice like that, harsh yet surprisingly monotonic).

"You truly do worry me, Commander."

A pause.

"I fear what would happen to you..."

His voice trailed off there, and Argentius was _certain_ he could hear the panicked sound of the elite sniper's breathing, accelerated and irregular, no matter how much he had attempted to control it (from what he could hear).

"Enough."

The single word sent a chill down Argentius' back. The Supreme Commander's voice had sounded so _hollow_ , so emotionless, completely inhuman. It was unlike the voice of the clockworks, a organized monotone, his voice was _empty_ , as if he was not completely there, as if he was focused on something _else_ while he spoke.

"Didn't I order for you to drop this subject entirely, Servius?"

 _He never refers to any of the officers by their first name without a title before it_.

In a way, this only served to underline the _severity_ of this entire situation.

It would be a understatement to say that Argentius did not feel _fear_ for the Supreme Commander. After all, he was _his_ soldier, one under his command -

Argentius found himself jerked right back into reality: the double doors of the Supreme Commander's office had opened, the elite Armada sniper walking out with what appeared to be a weight in his steps after casting a single glance over his shoulder at the figure of the Lord of the Valencian Empire, and then upon the Armada Commodore himself. Some part of Argentius could almost swear that he had seen Servius Decimus' lower lip tremble before the sniper made a sharp turn down the hallway where his patrol was located.

"Commodore Argentius Septimus."

 _I am one of his soldiers, one of those under his command, and he would never harm one that serves him, would he? He would not, he certainly would not._

That thought was repeated over and over in his head like a mantra of some sort, as if it would protect him from the fear that had instinctively risen within him at the sight of the thin face that belonged to the Supreme Commander of the Armada. There was something about those burning, piercing scarlet eyes that seemed to search through every inch of his being _every_ time he looked into them.

" _How_ much did you hear?"

So simple those five words were, and yet Ulysses had spoken with a sense of quiet authority that had completely frozen Argentius in his position: wrapping around him with a suffocating hold.

"I have only just arrived, Supreme Commander."

 _What am I doing, lying to the one that I am supposed to serve?!_

Every single part of his programming screamed at him, demanded him to speak the truth to his Supreme Commander: he was horrified at the fact such words could roll off of his tongue _oh so easily,_ as if some part of him was still loyal to his creator Atticus Mercilus in his memories. And perhaps this was true in some aspects, with the battle that had raged on within his own processor ever since he had returned from Grizzleheim.

"Truly, Commodore...?"

 _He doesn't believe you_.

"Your words do lack credibility."

That was all it took to send a shiver down Argentius' back.

Kane the Second simply jerked his head in the direction of his office, a silent beckon that the Commodore physically _could not_ disobey, no matter how much the majority of him wished to turn around and flee as far away as one possibly could.

Despite these protests within the confines of his own processor, Argentius' frame complied with the unspoken command, carrying him into the Supreme Commander's study as his superior closed the double doors behind him, locking them with a single click.

" _Remain still_."

And he was forced to freeze, even though Ulysses was not _physically restraining him_ in any way. Argentius could feel his breathing rate picking up, his system furiously cycling air in and out as he tried to counter the rising temperature of his frame. Just short of breathing down his neck, the Supreme Commander circled him like a mountain lion about to close in for their kill.

* * *

 **I do apologize for this late update ^^; all my fault, I had the alarm for updating this on and I forgot about it once I turned it off. Anyway, I know I'm evil for leaving it off on a cliffhanger ;) but anyhow, check back next chapter if you want to know what will happen to Argentius, tehehehe.  
**

 **Reviews are much appreciated!**

 **-Hades**


	23. Chapter 23

"Supreme Commander."

 _This is just asking for death, no!_

The gaunt - faced man spun around, the decorations on his uniform jingling, his crimson eyes locking directly into Argentius' own amethyst ones. For several long seconds, the Supreme Commander was silent, yet he did not turn his gaze away.

"What is it, Commodore?"

"Who exactly am I?"

 _Am I your soldier, an officer of the Armada? Or am I the loyal creation of the Templar Grandmaster Atticus Mercilus...?_

Kane the Second was silent. The only hint of what was going on through his mind was the way that the Supreme Commander's hands suddenly tightened into fists at his side, the way he suddenly took a single step toward him so he stood no more than a few inches away from him, his breathing suddenly harsh and ragged as if he had sprinted for several miles without stopping -

A gasp tore itself out of Argentius' throat.

The Supreme Commander's thin fingers wrapped around his neck, clamping down with frightening strength, just _short_ of cutting off his air supply.

"Did you not pay attention to me when I last spoke with you, _Commodore Septimus_?"

 _You must leave him, leave him or else he will take drastic steps to -_

" _Answer_ me, Commodore."

His face was merely a few inches away from Argentius' own, one of his gloved hands tracing along the silver corona around his eyes, his eyes of amethyst and opal: then coming down and pinching his chin, preventing the Commodore from looking away.

" _Answer me_."

Slender fingers tightened around his throat, forcing a gasp from his lips, only for the vice-like grip to abruptly loosen again. Argentius was quite certain that it would leave behind at least a few bruises: one of his hands rubbing at the flesh of his throat before he could force himself to look into the eyes of the Supreme Commander.

Those eyes always _terrified_ him.

They were the color of blood, fresh blood, with tiny capillaries branching out of the red irises and into the whites around them. It was quite evident that he had deprived himself of many days of sleep, something Argentius would not have put past him. But this was not what scared him, no, it was the way that those eyes seemed to _pierce_ through him, the way that his pupils had shrunk down to _tiny_ pinpricks.

"Supreme Commander, I - "

Argentius' sentence cut off there. He truly did not know how to _continue_ from here, and it was all too late to continue when he realized how foolish of a move it was.

The hand on his neck slipped down to grip onto the collar of his uniform coat, and the Supreme Commander _flung_ the Commodore onto his massive mahogany desk in the room: Ulysses' body pressing against his to pin him on top of it, so _close_ that Argentius _swore_ he could feel the beating heart within the Supreme Commander's chest against his own torso.

"You _will_ remember this, Argentius, _I_ and I _alone_ am your Commander."

Kane the Second hissed out the words, spitting each syllable out as though they were sour within his mouth.

"And as your Commander, you belong to _me_."

 _Tsing_.

Out of the corner of his eye, Argentius caught a glimpse of the razor sharp blade that had extended from the Supreme Commander's sleeve, the tip of it just _barely_ pressed into his skin, directly over one of the main arteries in his neck: one twitch, _one_ twitch of his wrist would be enough to terminate him.

"And you will remember this, Argentius."

A hand reached out, twisting Argentius' face around to look into his eyes.

Argentius was _certain_ , if he had a human's heart, it would have stopped right then and there.

Kane the Second's eyes were unnaturally wide, and his thin lips were twisted into a grin that was almost far too wide to be considered _normal_.

"I will _not_ let you return to that bastard, because you belong to _me_."

The blade on his neck carved downwards, cutting a gash that sent drops of scarlet blood trickling down his throat, staining the Armada Commodore's collar, and Argentius felt his own panic _skyrocket_ -

 _I am to be terminated right here...?_

And just as fast as it had _happened_ , it was over.

The Supreme Commander had stepped back, retracting the blade into the depth of his sleeve; his other hand snatching up the mask he had placed on the table and once again placing it over his gaunt face. This was enough to remind Argentius once more of the time that he had spent locked in the dungeons of the Armada, shortly before he was released by the Supreme Commander as Armada Commodore Argentius Septimus.

 _It was just the same_.

Like then, he had pressed the tip of his blade into the skin of his throat, until he could draw out the blood that was coursing through his veins. Like then, the Supreme Commander had _made sure_ it was just short of puncturing the vein in his neck, but enough for only a single twitch of his blade was needed to rip the vein right open and leave him bleeding to death.

And like then, his attitude had changed entirely as quickly as it had happened.

Argentius forced himself to stand back up, miraculously managing to mute the tremors that ran through his frame as he looked upon the now masked face of the Commander of the Armada.

"Do you ever wonder why I cannot permit you to return to him?"

Argentius wished nothing more than to be able to look away, away from the void - like eyes set into the mask of the Supreme Commander, the Emperor and ruler of the Valencian Empire: one of his hands reaching up and brushing over the wound carved into his neck, prodding at the streams of blood that no doubt still colored the flesh of his pale throat.

But he couldn't, not when the Commander had _not yet given him permission to._

" _Remember this_ , Commodore: Mercilus had taken everything, _everything_ I have ever valued from me."

 _You are your creator's soldier, therefore permit no one to talk ill of him - !_

 _You are a soldier of the Armada, you serve the Supreme Commander._

"I won't let him have _you_ , no, no - "

The battle raged on within him, loud and clear and overwhelming. It drowned out everything around him, even the voice of the Lord of the Valencian Empire. He could think of nothing else in that moment, it was impossible amidst this battle which raged within him, metaphorically ripping him apart in two different directions.

" _Do you understand?_ "

Kane II's hand from before had clamped down on his throat again, this time tightening to a _horrifying_ degree that sent black spots dancing in front of his vision and an alert signal flashing through his processor, even though it could not have lasted for more than a few seconds before Septimus' grip slackened enough for the Armada Commodore to twitch away from the Supreme Commander and his _piercing_ gaze.

"Yes, Commander."

How he had managed to speak without a tremor in his voice was truly beyond Argentius' understanding.

"And - " a single ghosting touch across the Commodore's uniform clad torso -

"What is it that brought you here?"

As if his hand had a mind of its own accord, Argentius produced the map piece from his uniform coat pocket, the folded piece of parchment that would have appeared as nothing _important_ to an unsuspecting outsider; presenting it to the Supreme Commander of the Armada.

"The second to last map piece."

The mask may have modified his voice, removing any and _all_ traces of emotion from it, but it still did _nothing_ to prevent the slight tremble in his words, the _excitement_ that Kane the Second no doubt felt: the Commander's gaze turning from the unfolded map piece to lock upon Argentius' own.

"You have done well, Commodore, and I had expected nothing less."

 _Let me leave, please just let me leave..._

The courage he had felt before when the Armada Commodore had been in Grizzleheim was gone, it had fled _far far away away_ from him and left him with that infernal snake known as fear writhing within his core. And it left him with _this_ man, who was supposed to be his superior whom he served.

"You are dismissed."

It had taken all of Argentius' own control, all of his militaristic discipline, not to _bolt_ out of the chamber upon being dismissed by the Supreme Commander: nearly slamming the door behind him once he had returned to his own quarters.

Then, and _only_ then, did the Armada Commodore permit himself to slump down on the floor, one of his hands brushing against the long gash in his throat, over the dried blood still coating his skin.

 _A hallucination_.

But what of the blood currently staining the collar of his uniform and parts of his pale flesh?

Argentius brought his gloved hand back before his own two eyes. His fingertips were stained crimson, a darker shade of crimson than the blood of humans. This was _his_ blood.

 _Turn away from him, he will only pose a danger to your function! Return to your previous commander!_

Self preservation, or serve the commander whom a large part of his programming dictated that he must obey...?

 _Or perhaps_ , a voice seemed to speak within his processor, _you can escape back to your original commander. After all, he did not bind you down with chains as he did in the beginning when he had you trapped in his own dungeon_.

Argentius literally had to _force_ himself to stand back up.

Betrayal was one of the most _hated_ crimes by the Armada, one of the worst, and only punishable by the worst punishment of it all, which was torture and then execution by the method of crucifixion. But there was also a chance of him being able to succeed and then perhaps topple the Supreme Commander Kane from his throne -

His eyes widened impossibly so, more than Argentius ever thought he ever could.

He was thinking of toppling the supreme ruler of the Valencian Empire from his throne. He was thinking of turning against the Supreme Commander of the Armada whom he _served_ -

 _You are the soldier of the Templar Order, remember?_

While it certainly was impossible to address Mercilus, even internally, as _commander_ , the Armada Commodore's deepest ingrained programming, he could sense it, and he _refused_ to give up attempting to call him by that title in the present tense.

* * *

 **Ulysses is very possessive and jealous when he needs to be, and that is not a good thing when Argentius is around. Though if anyone here thinks that this is already the worst he can be, think again, this will get a lot worse in the future (evil grin), meine freunde, a lot worse.  
**

 **Reviews are much appreciated :D later!**

 **-Hades**


	24. Chapter 24

Ulysses could not remember how much time had passed since his last meeting with the elites to discuss the retrieval of his precious creation and lieutenant from Skull Island, and perhaps that was for the best. Considering how his nights had been plagued by the damnable nightmares and his days were riddled with the _voices_ , Ulysses supposed he could not exactly say anything about it.

Especially not when El Dorado was so close at hand.

Laying the second to last map piece within the reinforced glass case, Ulysses closed it with a click: white smoke rising from the cracks as the case sealed itself up, even tighter by the lock Septimus added onto it.

 _So close, only one more piece is required for the map to be completed. Once the map is completed, El Dorado will belong to the Armada... El Dorado, the island of pure gold that should have been the property of the Armada and of the Valencian Empire long ago, the goal that my lord had worked so diligently to reach_.

Ulysses traced his fingers over the outline of the case, of the map pieces laying within it.

 _To think he had dedicated his entire life to completing this ancient document_.

His fingers curled into a fist, the rage that had been pounding through him ever since he had witnessed the death of the Supreme Commander a year ago bubbling to the surface.

 _Those fools had marked him as a monster simply for the fact that he was attempting to do something right. Ignorant, ungrateful fools! Without him, there would be no Valencia, there would be no freedom in the Spiral!_

" _Fottuto bastardi_."

A rather painful jolt shot up his arm, and it was only then that Ulysses realized that his fist had slammed into the wall in the midst of his heated rage. This was not the first time this had happened, if he remembered correctly, though this certainly was a much better end than himself losing control completely (he was almost certain he had lost count of the number of times he had lost control of himself entirely).

 _But this is not a time for me to dwell on the rage left behind from the past, is it? I am the Supreme Commander now, I am the Lord of the Armada, their leader that they look to for direction, and the last thing the Armada needs is a unstable leader on the throne_.

It had taken quite some effort to tear himself away from the display case and the chamber, closing the door behind him with a solid _click_.

His legs carried him down the hallways as if he was on some sort of autopilot, passing clockwork patrols of marines, musketeers and battle angels, each of them never failing to salute in acknowledgement of his position as their Supreme Commander.

Curving around the corner of one of the hallways, the corners of Ulysses' lips twitched up into a smile.

 _I've long lost count of how many of those Resistance fools perished believing that the Royal Guards would not react fast in time to protect me_.

A sense of pride welled up within Ulysses' chest at the thought. The Royal Guards were mass produced by _hand_ , based upon one of the first designs Ulysses had created while he served the Supreme Commander Kane as an Armada Commodore, shortly after his mansion was first razed by Adrian.

The memories turned the smile upside down into a scowl.

His memories became clearer with each second that he thought back upon them, surreal clarity of each and every sound, every sensation he had ever experienced within each of the memories. Vividly, he recalled how he had scaled the walls of Monteriggioni, nearly falling the rest of the way off of the wall halfway down: the brush of the sand against his face, the way his robes were plastered to his skin by the furious sweat as he fled from the doomed fortress -

A single Royal Guard opened the door to the war council chamber, saluting him and stepping back.

The door closed after him upon Ulysses stepping through.

All of the elites were present, each of them snapping into the Armada salute.

"Supreme Commander."

Never had Ulysses felt so tired upon seating in the throne - like seat that belonged to him, fatigue seemingly rushing up his spine and through every fibre of his being, although Ulysses still forced himself to sit up in the straight, dignified stance that one would expect of the Supreme Commander of the Armada. He was still their leader, the Emperor of the Valencian Empire, and therefore everything else could wait, even if it meant he would continue to _deteriorate_ , rot away within his own mind.

He held out one hand, the gesture for his elites to take their seats around the table: several hologram projectors sat on the table, each marked with a separate symbol to represent a different world, on switching on after the other to show the face of respective governors of the worlds, heads of the respective Assassin branches of said worlds.

"As you all may know, there is only one last piece of the map left out of our hands."

 _One last piece of map, one last obstacle before the Spiral belongs to the Armada_.

"I want the effort of finding this last piece increased thrice, El Dorado must not be allowed to fall into Templar hands."

Ulysses' masked gaze scanned over each one of the elites in the chamber, then the governors of the Assassin branches. There was no need for words for each and every one of the officers to acknowledge his newly issued command.

"Supreme Commander, if I may add."

Bishop's rasp of a voice scratched over the air of the council chamber, prompting every head in the room to turn toward the high mage of the Armada.

"Do we even have a lead for the recovery of the final piece of the map? And why worry about the Templar threat when their forces are already pushed into the very last corners of the Spiral by us, _by you_?"

Ulysses would have winced, if he had not pushed that reaction back.

"As long as they are there, there is a chance that they will strike back at us and upset the balance of the Empire."

His voice was a steady monotone when he spoke, something which Ulysses could only ever be infinitely more grateful for the mask over his face for. This mask was constricting, it kept everyone else from seeing his true face, yes, and not very many, if there were _any_ , bothered looking beyond this mask of his to see the scars he carried with him, and the sense of guilt that was all but _crushing_ him. Yet, at the same time it also seemed to _protect_ him in a way, seeing how his weakness would have been exposed for the world to see without it.

"Speaking of which - "

Ulysses turned his attention to Deacon.

"Has any information been learned of the whereabouts of Captain Quintia Presidos and Sentus Optimus?"

"It does not appear that they are under Templar captivity, Supreme Commander, as none of my spies have ever found any traces of them so far."

Ulysses' heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.

"Very well, keep up the search efforts."

The Supreme Commander's gaze turned to the rest of the officers.

"Meeting adjourned."

The elites dispersed silently, leaving Ulysses once more in the chamber, alone with his thoughts.

As if on command, Ulysses gasped like he was a fish taken out of the water, his hands in a death grip around the arms of his throne. Nothing else was needed to drive Septimus into more fear and panic than the news of this: uncertainty was horrifying, completely and absolutely horrifying when it comes to not knowing _what_ was the wereabouts of two of his treasured officers.

"Have faith in them, Creatore, even though the situation may not look optimal as of now."

 _It stands to reason that Servius could understand me better than most, after all, he is built based upon my emotions_.

"..."

Ulysses could only bring himself to reply in silence. There were far too many thoughts surging through his mind in that moment, possibilities of what could have happened to them, what _sick_ ways Atticus might have thought up to torment them. After all, he had all but mangled every inch of flesh on Septimus' back, leaving behind _numerous_ gashes that still remained as scars upon Ulysses' flesh, when he was locked within the dungeons of the Templar Grandmaster.

"You speak such as though you aren't worried for them."

Servius went silent, although the Supreme Commander's eyes picked up on the subtle way the young lieutenant Commander tensed -

"Do not lie to me, Servius."

"I - "The elite sniper's pale fingers tightened around the rifle in his hands, his lower lip trembling until he finally spoke again. "I admit, I fear for them as well, Creator."

 _Just like you fear for me, isn't it?_

"I had thought so as well."

 _The Triumvirate was made to never be separated, they were designed to be the three parts of a singular being_...

Ulysses rose from his throne, pivoting so his back faced the elite sniper.

"If anything is to happen to them, I guarantee, _it will not end well for those fools_."

He spat out the last words of his sentence with a sort of hiss. Oh what pain he would bring on both Adrian Devereaux and Mercilus if they really _did_ lay a hand on either one of them - !

"You are dismissed."

After all, he still needed to finish working on Aetius Varius, and more so than ever with the recent events transpired. And so, without even looking back, the Supreme Commander stepped out of the war council chamber, his coat sweeping against his ankle with every step and stride down the hallway of Cadiz leading to the chamber where Aetius' incomplete shape laid in wait -

The door closed behind him, clicking shut and locking.

 _So close to finishing him, I truly cannot afford to mess up at this point._

Ulysses quickly shed the heavily decorated uniform coat form his shoulders, draping it over the back of one of the nearby chairs; yanking off the gloves from his hands.

There were only a few crucial steps left to Aetius' construction -

Cybernetic fingers caressed the intricate little item sitting upon his workstation. To anyone else, it would not seem particularly special upon first glimpse, though upon a much closer inspection, it would be revealed that it was _far_ more than just a bundle of gears, wires, metal, and crystal twisted together in one elegant mess (at that, Ulysses inwardly laughed, bitterly and silently: oh how fitting it was to say about himself, that he was a _elegant mess_ at this point in time).

Flexible tubing formed the aorta, the superior vena cava, and the pulmonary artery and veins. Gears lined the surface, gears which would drive each other as the blood was pumped through the atriums and ventricles, both lined with crystal in order to ensure that the blood flowing through would have a smooth passage, and therefore rush to the limbs more quickly, giving faster reaction time with each powerful pump of the heart.

Crafting such an intricate little mechanism was by no means an easy task, especially when Ulysses was in his current state, how his fingers trembled with every little action he took: nearly causing him to drop some of his tools at times.

The heart was incomplete at this second, however, as it required careful work to ensure that every single detail of it was correct. One small mistake could very well destroy the entire project he spent so long to work on and given so much up for -

Ulysses flexed his shoulders, a long sigh escaping his lips. The kinks in his back slowly worked themselves out, slowly though surely. With the heart finished, there was only little left to do in order to conclude Aetius' construction, mostly adding the last finishing touches after the heart was installed within his chest and connected to the system of veins and bloodpaths within him.

"A sacrifice of blood, one to permanently bind us together."

Gripping onto the dagger that he usually carried with him by his left hand, Septimus brought it up and pressed the blade down on his own pale skin, slitting open his thumb and allowing several large droplets of blood to flow and drip onto the opening of the aorta tubing.

The blood disappeared into the tubing the same style as water would into sponge.

One by one, the gears clicked into action, the heart pulsating within the palm of his hand yet somehow not spilling one drop of the blood it carried (which now _filled_ the tiny mechanism): _tha-dump_ , _tha-dump_.

It was only a simple task to turn his chair around, raise, and then set the heart into the currently open chest cavity, connecting each of the tubes up with the appropriate openings until he could _see_ the blood being pumped through Aetius' entire frame: closing the open chest cavity and sealing it with another one of the nearby machines.

Ulysses took a moment to admire his handiwork.

Laid out on the table before him, straight and silent, was the pale form of the first clockwork Assassin. Every detail of his form matched that of the Supreme Commander himself, save for the numerous scars that covered Septimus' torso, with his lithe form, made for grace and agility as well as strength.

" _Maestro Assassino_ Aetius Varius Septimus."

Ulysses breathed the words out, tracing a single finger along the outline of Aetius' jaw. Varius was made to be in every way a perfect replica of Septimus, even in the facial appearance with his strong jawline and sharp nose, with a dark corona of black and silver around his eyes to represent his position as a prototype clockwork Assassin -

All strength suddenly was drained from Ulysses' legs, forcing the Supreme Commander down to his knees -

 _NO! WHY MUST THESE HALLUCINATIONS INSIST ON HAUNTING ME?!_

Once more, _the_ scene played out before his eyes, reminding him, _taunting him_.

Once more, he watched in _horror_ as Kane fell before his eyes. There was nothing he could do save for stand there in mortification and watch it all unfold, just like before -

 _I am a failure, a failure! I could have stopped this from happening, I could have... If only I was just a little quicker! If I had taken action sooner, if I wasn't a foolish, imperfect human, perhaps Monteriggioni could have remained standing. Oh Dio, forgive me, Supreme Commander, I have failed you and the Armada... Forgive me, Ezio, forgive me I could not have saved you: you gave me time to escape in order so that I could bring aide and turn around the battle of Monteriggioni, and I only returned too late. Perhaps I could fix it all by finding and putting those bastards that had slain my Commander to death, but would that fix anything...? It would not bring him back, the same way that the deaths of those nine Templars would not bring my brother back to me_ -

" _But you are the oh so powerful ruler of the Valencian Empire, are you not?_ "

The images faded out from before him, leaving Ulysses gasping softly for breath, his right hand gripping the edge of the table for dear life. No matter how many times those hallucinations came to plague him, there was no escaping the _guilt_ , the _fear_ that would pound through his mind, until the _voices_ dispelled those wretched images.

" _You are the lord of two crowns, the Supreme Commander of the entire Assassin Order, and the King of Valencia. Even if you may not amend for what has happened in the past with your current actions, you can still make them pay for what they have done to you, pay in the price of blood like the Nine had_."

Power, yes, he had power, he had all the power a man could ever hope to possess at his disposal, all the power he could ever want to put his enemies through all the pain they _deserved_.

Pain to his enemies...

The thought drew a laugh from his throat - a terrifying, _maniacal_ sound.

* * *

 **More Supreme Commander Ulysses. Poor thing, he's just losing his mind slowly and slowly, isn't he? And yes, Aetius Varius is about close to completion, I do assure you all, Aetius will play a much greater role in this than you can imagine, but what kind of role you will have to check back to see later. ;)  
**

 **Later!**

 **-Hades**


	25. Chapter 25

Marvel.

Such was what he could feel, gazing upon the now completed form of the clockwork Assassin Aetius Varius Septimus, the first of his kind. Everything about him had come out out the way Septimus had intended, in every way resembling Ulysses himself, save for the scar crossing over the side of his face, just underneath his left eye: like all other clockworks, Varius' face had a mask - like appearance, the 'mask' resembling Ulysses' silver battlemask, though black with silver designs.

 _A perfect clone of me, made to be able to do everything I can, to proccess everything in a near perfect replica of my own thought process._

Ulysses' lips curled slightly in the corners into a smile.

 _I've done it at last!_

Septimus placed one hand on the golden artifact sitting within one of the pockets of his coat. Even out of his peripheral vision, the Supreme Commander of the Armada could see the light pulsating off of the artifact in a similar fashion to a human's heart -

"Arise, Aetius Varius Septimus, arise and serve your creator!"

With each pulse of golden light sent out by the artifact came a slight twitch from the frame of the clockwork, until a shuddering breath kicked his respiratory system into gear.

All of the golden light immediately dissipated.

Varius pushed himself up with his right hand - the very same one bearing a gauntlet that ran from his elbow down to his fingertips - and climbed off of the table he laid on simply moments before he was animated.

" _Per la gloria dell'Armata, creatore_."

 _Perfect, truly perfect_.

The clockwork assassin dropped down into a slight bow, one Ulysses himself had often adopted when he was before the presence of the previous Supreme Commander. Though it did make sense, if he thought about it, considering he had given Varius a portion of his own memories by bestowing him with his DNA through the means of Ulysses' own blood.

Words could not have done justice for the exhilaration he felt coursing through his veins.

 _I have created my own perfection, completed what was once impossible in the minds of those others._

"Aetius Varius Septimus, what is your objective, my son?"

"To fight for your glory, for the glory of the Valencian Empire and her Armada, to wipe the existence of Templars and resistance against your rule from the face of the Spiral, Supreme Commander."

Ulysses' heart soared within his chest. This meant nothing more than that he had succeeded in transferring his DNA memory through the blood transfusion: every memory of the pain and of the blood and destruction brought on by the factions of the pirates and the Templars, including the memories of Ulysses' suffering at the hands of Atticus Mercilus -

"Very precisely, _mio figlio_ , now rise."

Ulysses paused, crimson eyes meeting the gaze of the clockwork Assassin.

"But also keep this in mind, Aetius, you are the one to take after me, if anything is to happen to me. _You_ will become the Supreme Commander of the Valencian Armada."

The Assassin nodded in mute understanding, each of his steps synchronizing with the Supreme Commander's out of the chamber.

Ulysses closed the door of his workshop behind him.

"Come with me, Aetius."

Aetius Varius followed him in the way any obedient any child would, and even without looking back, Ulysses sensed how he internally took in everything around him, figuring out the workings of the fortress without even creating a single sound. Such was not exactly different from how Septimus once was himself, he did recall.

 _I was like this before, when I was nothing but a young assassin still training to fight for what was right in the Spiral_.

The Supreme Commander closed the door behind him, his chair creaking when his body settled within it.

Once more, Aetius' void - like eyes underneath the shadow of his hood met his scarlet eyed gaze.

"What are your orders, Commander?"

 _As any soldier should, as how any of my creations should be..._

"Do not allow the others to know who you are until I say so, Aetius, the Templars must not know that you exist yet, for you are to be our greatest asset against them. Practice the skills you have and know while you are at it, I will be giving you a mission as soon as one comes up."

Varius simply nodded: out of the door, his robes swishing with each of his steps.

The silence was deafening.

Ulysses realized, right then and there, just how empty everything felt now he had completed constructing his final and absolutely perfect creation.

 _It's in your hands now... Supreme Commander._

Slender fingers, both flesh and mechanical, curled into fists, digging into his palms, his fingernails carving cresents and nearly drawing drops of blood. His Lord was yet to be avenged truly, for while he did indeed ensure the entirety of Skull Island spilled their blood as retribution for the strike they had struck against the Valencian Armada, his true killer still ran amok in the Spiral.

Adrian Devereaux.

 _Devereaux... Mercilus... Pray that I don't find you before you die, or else hell will seem welcome with what I have planned for you both. No one walks out of the hands of the Interrogator without wounds in their flesh and in their mind, no one survives, and neither will you…!_

The sounds spilling from his throat had only registered within his mind much later after they had occurred: slightly high, airy laughter that could only belong to a madman.

Cybernetic fingers traced along his desk's edge, following the elongated shadows of the objects sitting across it in a manner that could only be described as precise.

Perfect stacks of parchment, a flawless quill pen in the inkwell, his mask sitting on its stand not far away from his hand. A lamp stood silent sentinel at one of its corners, casting a long shadow -

 _Click_.

Perhaps it was just him, though Ulysses was rather certain that he had heard the click of his pocketwatch going off in the lapel of his waistcoat.

He quickly fished it out.

 _0445 AM_.

"Why time, you cruel immortal, passing by so fast when it would have been much more preferable if you were a little slower."

He dropped the watch into the pocket from which he had taken it, pushing himself up next. Only fifteen minutes were required to pass before his usual meeting with his elites, fifteen minutes to dress himself up within the royal regalia of the Emperor of the Valencian Empire and the Supreme Commander of the Armada with his mask.

Ulysses tugged his white gloves tight over his slender hands, his uniform coat's familiar weight on his shoulders almost providing a sense of comfort. It was his shell, a heavy shell that was choking him and weighing down on him and crushing his lungs, even though it was all that was shielding him from the scrutinizing eyes of his own soldiers.

 _What would they think about me if they knew of the fact that I am like... This? My soldiers, my warriors, and my family, they need me at this very moment, I cannot afford to slip at this moment, no matter how tempting it is_.

It would be quite an understatement to say such was _tempting_. Nearly everyday, Ulysses found himself fighting this urge to simply _let it all go_ -

Ulysses shook it off.

Wrapping his sash tightly around his waist and tying the knot, the Supreme Commander of the Armada drew in a sharp breath at the sensation of first his sword belt and then his belt of throwing knives around his waist: gloved fingers running over his own now slightly more prominent hipbones.

 _Was I like this in the past?_

It tired him, exhausted him to look up into the mirror he was positioned in front of.

Ulysses' eyes met with scarlet, half sunken ones.

The figure inside the mirror wore his clothing, _his_ face, or what he thought was his face. Ulysses Septimus never recalled him appearing so gaunt in appearance, the flesh stretching over his skull like the skeleton structure his body contained was about to jump out of the skin it was supposed to support. His lips were slightly parted, just ever so slightly and drawing in controlled gulps of air which was vital to keep his easily broken, _human_ frame going.

Ulysses traced a single fingertip along the scar marring the left side of his face.

It felt as though he was looking into the face of a stranger.

 _But this is indeed you, this is you and no one else_.

The scar on the side of his face rippled, when Ulysses opened his mouth. What he would say, what he desired to accomplish, it all flew out of the Supreme Commander's reach, just like everything else in his life, and several seconds later, he simply closed his mouth in the fashion of a mute.

His blood - red eyes fluttered closed.

 _How fast did everything change. Only over a course of not even more than a decade: Ezio's death, Lavinia's death, and - !_

Ulysses' left hand flew up to his head. No, please, no, not at _this moment_ when he needed what was left of his crumbling facade...!

He gave up fighting those images, those voices. What else could he do when they would not relent, no matter how much he inwardly screamed, inwardly begged for those images of madness to leave him alone, they would just _not_ leave?

But everything be damned if he would allow himself to slip before the ultimate goal was accomplished.

Shaking his head like it would shut out those images, clear them out of his head, Ulysses spun briskly on his heels and snatched the mask up. It would not be prudent to keep his soldiers, his elites waiting when they needed him in all of this, not when he had an Empire to run.

 _An entire empire built upon the complete and total annihilation of an entire island of people, many who could possibly be innocent and did not deserve the fate you had brought down upon them. Ulysses, what happened to adhering to the creed you had sworn to protect with everything you had? What happened to all the teachings that Ezio had taught you -_

Ulysses shut the thought out of his head, locked it in a prison at the back of his skull with all of his other pesky _human thoughts_ and threw the key into the pit within himself.

" _Ave, Secundus Caesarus_."

The traditional greeting from his elites reverberated through the war chamber upon Ulysses' entrance, each and every one of them snapping into the Armada salute and their gazes focused upon him. Him, their _leader_ , their _commander_ appointed.

 _What a joke that I am, a poor fool and a coward that could only hide behind a mask and a costume, standing in Kane's shadow and leading soldiers that was rightfully his._

Those thoughts rattled through his skull when he sat down, clashing against each other like the stones within the rain maker instrument. The sound was overwhelming, deafening even, taking over his thought process in a way that left Ulysses' lips twitching behind the mask, silent tears rolling down his cheeks even when his voice was even and monotone. After listening to those thoughts for so long, it was impossible to not start actually _believing_ in them.

Septimus could not even predict the worst was yet to come.

His fingers tightened around the armrests of his throne.

 _What's happening to me?!_

The voices of his elites blurred into one, and his vision was darkening, even though nothing was obstructing his vision. There was no differentiating between the words at this point, more so with what felt like a gigantic boulder was pressing down upon his chest, threatening to crush him absolutely and completely this time.

Ulysses wanted to _scream_.

Much as he despised himself for being such an imperfect weakling, for being a human with those pesky emotions that often came in the way of his service to the Grand Armada as its leader and Commander, as well as the Emperor of the Valencian Empire, it was virtually _impossible_ to deny the fact he still had a human's self preservation and fear -

 _Darkness all around him, crushing him within its inky embrace. He could see nothing beyond three feet of himself, and all he could hear was that horrendous scream in the distance, the drops of crimson red_...

Septimus snapped back into reality, his vision kicking right back on.

"Commander? Are you of optimal condition?"

It was Deacon that had spoken, his voice betraying the slightest hint of - did he hear that _correctly_ ? - concern for him.

"I assure you, I am, spymaster, there is no need to worry for me."

 _Is that not the same words you had essentially spoken to Servius before, Septimus? You may be able to force him to not speak of any of this, but this is not Servius. Deacon could probably see through this weak little facade you have up without even trying_.

"If you say so, Commander."

Ulysses winced, fingers tightening around the armrests of his throne. Deacon clearly held no credibility to his words, simply permitting such lies to be spoken for the sake of him keeping what was left of his dignity in front of his soldiers: his gaze turned toward the other elites.

Rooke's gaze was scrutinizing, not even bothering in the least to turn away even when the Supreme Commander met his, unwavering and harsh just as he had been when he had first met him.

Bishop was not even paying attention, simply tinkering with his staff.

Cristobal's eyes were downcast, his lips a neutral line teering on a frown. The elder assassin's fingers twitched, slipping on the drafting compass within it and nearly dropping it all together.

"As I was saying, I want a retrieval team ready by tomorrow. We have waited for far too long, and who knows what the Templars could have done to them during this span of time - "

Two weeks, _two_ whole weeks had passed without anything coming up, nothing known about the whereabouts of his two most precious officers. Ulysses could _not_ wait any longer.

"Do _anything_ needed to find them and bring them back is crucial of this moment."

The Supreme Commander could only hope that this was enough to distract his mind from the image he had seen when he blacked out.

* * *

 **And Aetius Varius Septimus officially is activated! What awaits our clockwork assassin...? Only time could tell.  
**

 **Read and review :D**

 **Later!**

 **-Hades**


	26. Chapter 26

Everything felt numb to Quintia. She could not feel _anything_ , not even the pain of being dragged along the path back into the base of the Knights Templar, the rough sand and gravel carving paths in her once flawless jet black and scarlet armor and the grips of the Templars restraining her digging into her wrists.

"The Grand Master will not like this, but at least we caught one of them."

"What about the other one, sir?"

 _The other one_.

Sentus Optimus, her creator and Commander's lieutenant, had supposedly _escaped._ Such was truly a relief, seeing what chaos had transpired when the Templars finally found their hiding location in the Skull Mountain.

Her void - like eyes gazed ahead, the rest of the conversation between the Templar soldier restraining her and their leader falling short of her attention.

Memories replayed through her processor, from start to end like the recorded hologram messages that the Armada occasionally used for transferring information between the worlds.

There was blood, shouting, and the Templars had rushed at the two of them from nearly every direction, brandishing their swords and their muskets and axes and spears, calling for their blood in retribution for what the Armada had done in the past against their faction. Seeing how her creator Ulysses, or Kane the Second as he was currently better known to be, was an assassin, Quintia suspected they also had done this to strike back at him in retribution for what he had accomplished against them before.

She and Sentus Optimus had fought with everything they had, snapping necks and shattering skulls, other times simply breaking the spines of whoever dared to challenge them. Bodies piled up around them like literal walls of flesh, walls growing with each of the waves of Templar Knights rushing at them with the full intent to slaughter them both.

Quintia had lost count of the number of humans she killed after approximately ten minutes.

It was normally a short span of time, the secondary Praetorian commander had thought with a bitter note, yet it had felt like _eternity_ had passed.

And in that very second, she had known what had to be done.

She had fought her way to Optimus' side, breaking bones and leaving the poor Templar fools writhing on the ground from the pain: the copious amounts of spilled blood staining her once flawless white hands a crimson red not unlike the shade of her armor.

" _Eseguire, io ti coprirà._ "

The co - commander of the Royal Guards had chosen her native language, whispering the command to Optimus without a second thought. She did not care if this placed her at high risk of getting captured by the Templars, not to mention that Optimus was virtually unharmed while she bore more than just a _few_ wounds from being in the Templars' captivity.

So Sentus Optimus had fled amidst the chaos and pandemonium, and it was only in that moment that Quintia Presidos realized how alone she was. There was no one coming to back her up, no one coming to save her from the fate which seemed so inevitable at this moment in time.

 _Zero percent possibility of surviving this ordeal. There are enemies far and wide, and you are naught but a single soldier among a sea of enemies to the Armada. There is no use in fighting at this point_.

It should have brought out the infernal serpent known as _fear_ once again, but it had not - instead, she could only feel a sort of calmness within her innermost programming. Her battle functions had not been impeded in any way, as she was still capable of looking around and finding the weak points of each and every one of the Templar soldiers swarming her.

That was, until a length of chains was wound around her torso, ensnaring her arms by her sides.

Quintia did not fight those chains.

Perhaps she could have broken out of them if she had tried hard enough, although it would have served little purpose. She had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide in this chaos, the Templars would still find and hunt her down even if she managed to do so.

This brought Quintia back into reality.

One of the Templars dragging her along had pushed her, and her armored form made an audible sound as she was thrown before the golden throne of the Templar Grand Master Atticus Mercilus.

"Clever one you are, Quintia Presidos, you and your allies."

Mercilus had spat out the words, completely shedding the guise of feigned friendliness that he had adorned when he first stepped into the chamber in which he had firsted confined her; dark eyes meeting the voids in the female Royal Guard's mask - face.

"Although I must admit, it was a rather well thought out move on the gods-be-damned _traitor_ Joseph Davenport's part, or should I say _Militus Secundus_ the Armada spy?"

 _Secundus_.

The name of the Armada spy had echoed within her processor in a fashion that could only be compared to an echoing shout. Yet, similar to when she was fighting for her very existence no more than exactly thirteen minutes before, Quintia felt no fear even when the very leader of the entire Templar Order glared down upon her from his _throne_.

"Your silence is rather annoying, _Commander_."

Quintia simply matched the iron glare of the Templar Grand Master. There was a part of her that was rather sorely tempted to lash back with some sort of bitter retort, something about how truly hopeless their attempt at fighting the might of the Valencian Armada was. Quintia bit it back, simply continuing to glare back at him with those unyielding voids.

" _Answer me_ , spawn of Septimus."

Atticus' fists clenched, a vein popping out on his forehead.

"I will restate what I have previously said, _Grand Master_ , I will not give you any information regarding the Armada. Your attempts to resist the power of the Supreme Commander Kane the Second are futile, it will not be very long before his forces bring this island to ruin."

A brief flash of anger appeared in Atticus' eyes.

"It does appear that you have clearly forgotten the very fact that _I_ hold your fate in the palm of my hand at this very moment, Royal Guard, I can order my soldiers to rip your scrap metal body apart with a twitch of my fingers. Do you _truly_ wish to test my patience?"

"I am a clockwork officer."

Quintia straightened herself to the very best of her ability.

"Threaten me with death all you want, but I shall _never_ betray my Commander and creator."

A single gloved fist slammed down on his throne's armrest, Mercilus' boots clacking rather noisily as the Templar strode over to her.

The impact of the Atticus' ferocious kick sent her tumbling back onto her back, a tremor of pain shooting through her frame, athough Quintia paid it no attention.

"You've tested my patience to its limit, spawn of Septimus, there is a reason why even your dear _Commander of the Armada_ still has nightmares about my hand! Take her to the torture chamber!"

 _So my termination is to come in agony? I suppose this is a fitting price, being a soldier of the Armada, it is my duty to remain loyal to him until the end. At least I have made contributions to His Majesty's cause in my short time of function_.

Barely more than a year, she recalled, she was in function for barely more than a year. While it was not exactly _inaccurate_ to say that her current mindset was extremely _pessimistic_ , as the humans would have said,, was there really any way out for her? Quintia doubted such.

She barely flinched when the two Templar brutes threw her into the same chamber as before; simply meeting each of their helmeted gazes upon the removal of her armor and undertunic once again, the latter tearing the just barely healed synthetic flesh off of her back once more. It had been impossible to prevent the blood from the festering wounds on her back and flesh from fusing together, like some sort of glue had been applied, after so long.

There was still no way to prepare herself for the pain, the pain that ripped all other thoughts from the depths of her processor.

 _RED ALERT_.

Quintia's frame lurched at the _searing_ pain lashing across her stomach; the barbed tails of the whip tearing _chunks_ of flesh off of her, carving deep gouges in other places. Drops of her blood spilled over her now scarred white flesh with the brilliance of rubies. It was a _surreal_ sensation, for a lack of a better word, to see the fluid sustaining her system flowing out of the wound.

Another lash.

Nine _more_ gouges ripped into her flesh.

Each of them bit deeper than the previous ones, and many cut deeply enough to expose her innermost circuits for her to see. _Then_ and only then did the pain register within Quintia's processor. It was useless at this point to keep the screams from spilling out of her lips.

"Look at you, the Commander of the Royal Guards, reduced down to _this_."

Quintia just barely had the strength to look up right into the face of the man known as Atticus Mercilus.

" _Vai farti fottore_."

Her vocalizer sputtered, threatening to give out almost entirely on her. It did not matter, however, not when she had managed to spit those words out in the face of her creator's arch - enemy, for she truly had nothing else to lose.

And if her termination could possibly mean that her creator would become empowered enough to end this man, to end the Knights Templar Order once and for all, then she would let it be.

Atticus' eyes narrowed.

"Just like your creator, Quintia Presidos, you are a fool to defy me."

His wrist flicked, the strike from his scourge burning _ten times_ more than the ones delivered by the brutes. By this point, the Royal Guard could only utter a weak groan, alarm signals flashing before her as her processor, as every inch of her frame, her being screeched at her to move _out_ of the way of her tormentor's weapon.

 _RED ALERT, RED ALERT!_

"Have you ever seen the scars _I_ have left on your Commander's body? Those multitudes of scars on his back and on his chest? Yes, I was the one who had left all of those, I was the one who had left them on him when he had fallen into my hands seven years ago like a pathetic weakling."

Atticus' voice had a sort of echo with each stroke of his wrist, with every stream of blood gushing out of her wounds. Quintia Presidos found she had never wished more for _death_ and _termination_.

With every stroke of the scourge, Quintia's vision swam even more. Strength left her limbs, and it was not too long until the chains around her wrists became the only things holding her up: her legs having long given out from underneath her.

"Pathetic, you really are pathetic, just like Septimus!"

 _That_ voice-!

Quintia's head snapped up with renewed strength. She recognized the voice just about all too well. No other _man_ in the Spiral bore this despicable voice, aside from the man known to the Valencian Armada as "public enemy number one," _Adrian Devereaux_ himself. Even though she did not harbor the same kind of hatred against Atticus as her commander Ulysses did, Quintia could still feel the emotion of _disgust_ within herself.

 _He_ was the coward here, _not_ her, she cognitively _chanted,_ over and over again at least she had honor and she had will, unlike this _coward_ -!

* * *

 **And now we finally see what has happened to Quintia in all this time. Yep, things aren't looking so good for her, isn't it? Poor girl, only been in function so long and already got handed something like this...**

 **Reviews are much appreciated :D laters!**

 **-Hades**


	27. Chapter 27

There was _no_ way out for her.

The thought did not frighten her as much as it had when it first emerged within her mind. Rather, Quintia Presidos almost felt _calmer_ at this point, if that was even comprehensible, for it would set her free of this living nightmare.

Even though she was suspended by her wrists, broken and bleeding, Quintia did not feel it. A large amount of time had already passed, but she had given up attempting to calculate how long it was. The worst part, however, was not this - it was how those lash marks riddled her torso, more wounds than there was untouched synthetic flesh, dried blood clinging to the edges of them. Some of them healed better than the others, as though her system was frantically attempting to retain the blood she was quickly losing.

However, several of the wounds were not so. They had been ripped into her flesh deep enough for her to see her inner gear systems and circuitry, dried blood cresting around them in dark patches.

Chains jingled when Quintia absentmindedly attempted to move her arms, a jolt of pain rushing right through her entire frame. It did not seem to hurt as much at this point, however, after so many days. Humans truly were not incorrect to say that after getting used to pain, it become nothing more than a dull ache that one could easily ignore.

Her memories traced back to the last few fragments that she had shared with her brothers and her creator.

Quintia remembered how she had stood at the side of the newly named Supreme Commander of the Valencian Armada, overlooking the holographic projection map of the Spiral. Her brothers were by her side, she recalled, Servius and Albinus, while Ulysses mapped out the course of the next conquest of the Armada.

Her creator's voice echoed in her audio, as clear as she had just heard it a few second's ago.

 _"The opposition in Monquista has died entirely, and Mooshu will follow soon enough once the resistance headed by Gortez is put down_. _"_

 _She_ was the one that had headed the force of soldiers to break the Monquistan resistance. Quintia Presidos had been the one to lead the legion of clockwork soldiers into the desert world, directly engaging the hulking ape on his warship in single handed combat. It was a battle that could have cost the life of anyone else, and she had emerged _victorious_.

The journey back to Valencia was one of triumph, during which the lieutenant commander of the Royal Guards had basked in the glory of success, of bringing honor and victory to her Commander.

Quintia laughed bitterly in the depth of her throat, the sound quickly turning into a painful hacking; blood dousing the front of her torso as it trickled from her lips. The Templars had done more damage than she had initially thought - although it was not exactly surprising to her as the fact they had not executed her _yet_.

 _Forgive me father, I have failed you..._

Had she possessed the eyes of a human, they would have closed tightly out of the shame she currently felt coursing through every inch of her being. To think that the Supreme Commander of the Armada had entrusted her with the task of bringing his arch - enemy to justice, and she had _failed_ in this mission - it was unthinkable.

Quintia Presidos Septimus, the lieutenant Commander of the Royal Guards, had failed in her mission -

"Thinking back on your failure, oh _lieutenant commander_?"

Mercilus' gloved hand reached out, pinching her chin and forcing her to meet his eyes. The Templar held an unwavering gaze, one of pure _hatred_ against the clockwork Armada, and against her creator. There was nothing this man would not do to get _his revenge_ upon the Supreme Commander.

"It is nothing but a contribution toward the cause of the Armada. After all, I am His Majesty's soldier and officer, to give up my function for him would be what you humans would call an _honor_."

Quintia did not fear for herself. After all, she was a _Royal Guard_ , a clockwork virtually _built_ to protect the Supreme Commander.

"What good would it do for your dear _creator_?"

Atticus' sneer could be _heard_ as he released her mask - face; boots thudding softly against the stone floor of the chamber she was confined in.

"But of course, with how much it would hurt him to lose you, I have nothing to complain about. If you insist on throwing yourself down for _his_ sake, that pathetic excuse for a king and emperor, _be my guest_."

Quintia was almost certain that if she had human eyes, they would have narrowed with the new emotion she had so _recently_ learned - _hatred_. Granted, Ulysses Septimus, her own creator, was less than perfect in many ways as a human soldier of the Armada, at least he acknowledged that he was so.

"Although I have to admit, _Commander_ ," Attcius spun around, arms crossed over his chest. "Ulysses Septimus _is_ quite intelligent for someone _of his nature_ , for one who had to cheat on the way up into the throne of the Grand Master Assassin."

"Your criminal records beg to differ, _Grand Master_."

"What others believe of me, I could care less for. The past is in the past, there is no need to waste one's breath over events that have already transpired, no?"

The sneer plastered across the Templar Grand Master's face twisted; his intent of a clear malicious nature. His robes swished softly, boots clacking as he retreated out of the chamber, his shadow covered by the forms of two brutish Templars, their footsteps thunderous as they now approached her.

They both carried large knives in their hands, each of them cackling menacingly, speaking in a tongue that had taken Quintia several seconds to decipher.

" _It truly is such a pity that such a pretty girl has to be with the clockwork devils_."

" _Indeed. Strip her flesh from her bones!_ "

* * *

 **And now, all of hell will be unleashed. To be all honest, Quintia's death has to be the one death I feel the worst about within this entire story, like Edward's from Valencian Legend. Poor girl, she had so much going on in her short duration of function, and she had perished thinking she had failed her Supreme Commander. Who else here thinks that all of hell shall now go down on Atticus, Adrian, and the Templars after this?  
**

 **Also I cannot possibly be the only one hating Atticus _and_ Adrian right now.**

 **Until next time! :D and psst, reviews are appreciated.**

 **-Hades**


	28. Chapter 28

He would not, he _could_ not wait any longer.

"Aetius, I want you to take a team of soldiers and _any_ elites you deem appropriate to the ruins of Skull Island. Take _any_ actions necessary to bring your sister back."

The clockwork assassin simply nodded in confirmation; his hood overshadowing the upper half of his face. A single pale hand wrapped around the hilt of the schiavona sword within its black leather sheath at his side.

"As how you command, father - I will not disappoint you."

Ulysses felt some of the weight being lifted from his chest. Aetius' confirmation seemed to provide a sort of relief for him, for while the clockwork assassin had only been activated recently, he had proved to be a _perfect_ replica of Ulysses himself. Already, seven of the Resistance diehards in Valencia had perished by his hand, and no other had knowledge of this, writing it off as suicide.

The assassin whirled around, striding out of the double doors.

Ulysses' shoulders relaxed.

 _Why worry about him so, Septimus? He can manage perfectly in these situations, you've made him so, engineered him to be the unified form of the Triumvirate. Your greatest creation, was that not what you called him - ?_

Such was true indeed - however, the Emperor of the Valencian Empire still could not shake off the odd feeling that something was _dreadfully_ wrong. Even the whispers were quiet, unnaturally quiet for the last four days, taunting him with their silence - which was, strangely, much more _unnerving_ than their accursed echoes had ever been.

Slender fingers drummed impatiently along the edge of his workdesk, the rhythmic sound echoing in time with the rush of his blood and the beat of his heart.

It was strange to imagine that it was only nine years ago when he had stood oh so _triumphantly_ on the grounds of the Arena, the sole victor of the tournament. Glory was showered upon him on that day, and he had been revered as the next supreme leader of the Assassin Order.

Permitting his scarlet eyes to close, Ulysses found it all replaying before him, as though it was merely a recording.

None of the fights were _easy_ , nor did any of the contestants have mercy upon their opponents. They simply fought with all their might, strength, and ability, the only limit being that they could not actually _kill_ their opponents.

Vivdly, Ulysses recalled what it felt like when he was closed in from all sides by his opponents. Cuts riddled his arms and his torso, dripping blood and stinging like hell. Of course, all of those were nothing when compared to what he had endured while facing his final opponent, _Atticus Mercilus_ himself, a journeyman ranking Assassin at then (while the Order had four official ranks, there were other ranks among the Assassins themselves, journeyman being one of them).

Atticus seemed to lash out with every intent to actually _kill_ him: each of his strikes calculated and aimed directly at a point on the human body that would bring an agonizing death. With Atticus slashing and hacking at every inch he could reach, Ulysses had soon found himself almost _pressed_ against the side of the Arena, reduced to focusing solely on defending himself from the whirlwind of attacks.

The scar on his left side throbbed in ghost pain, prompting one of Ulysses' hands to reach and outline the scar through the fabric of his uniform. How he actually managed to actually _defeat_ the then journeyman assassin, he still did not know -

"Supreme Commander."

His head shot up, the voice having come from just directly beyond the threshold of his office doors. One of his Assassins, judging from the voice: clockwork soldiers had a defined montone, devoid of emotion, a difference which had became so much more prominent over the two years Septimus sat upon the throne of Valencia.

"Enter."

As was expected of a follower of the Assassin's Creed, the assassin placed his right hand over his chest, his upper half bending in a respectful partial bow. Ulysses could only nod - something deep inside him told him this boded only _ill_ of something he will not wish to know - in acknowledgement.

"What brought you here, brother?"

Cassius - the Supreme Commander recalled his name to be - parted his lips as though in reply to his words. Several seconds passed before he at last spoke:

"Supreme Commander, someone has sent you a _gift_."

It had not taken Ulysses too long to notice how the Assassin had wrapped the word in a ominous tone, one which could only bode ill. He would not deny how much this truly _unnerved_ him deep down below, no matter how much he tried to suppress it.

"Where is this _gift_ that you are talking about?"

Wordlessly, the Assassin bowed, holding one hand toward the door.

His stomach dropped into the depths of his stomach, and, fighting himself every step of the way, Ulysses rose from his chair and followed Cassius out of his office.

Twists and turns down the halls, he knocked three times on the door of Bishop's lab. It creaked once it opened -

To say that the clockwork mage - the Mad Tinkerer to those who were against Septimus' rulership - was horrifying was more of an understatement than anything in the Spiral. Machines filled almost every inch of Bishop's lab, some of them resembling torture instruments more than tools used to create or heal.

The mage himself hunched over one of the tables, staff in one hand: dark voids of his mask - face behind his goggles focusing on Ulysses himself when he entered (leading to the Supreme Commander tensing when he realized he had _not_ worn his mask).

"It is likely not the best idea, Supreme Commander, but it would be a fault to deny you to see this."

Bishop's staff tapped against the box sitting on the table.

Ulysses found himself freezing up at the sight of the box. While it possessed of an appearance that was nothing short of ordinary, drops of blood clung to its polished wooden surface, some of them dried into brown spots and others still fresh and dripping out of whatever gruesome content this vessel bore within it. Clockwork blood was coating its surface, and Ulysses _knew,_ for he had learned to recognize it after so long -

His hands were trembling more than he could ever imagine, and several times his fingers slipped from the lid of the box, unable to grip it properly until he finally wrenched it away.

The Supreme Commander felt his heart drop into his stomach, shattering into one thousand little pieces that pierced directly into his soul. Still, this would not be able to truly sum up the horror and the pain which overcame him in that instant: the pain of a father realizing their child was _gone_.

For within this crude container was nothing short of the remains of his dear, beloved _daughter_ Quintia Presidos.

What was once her beautifully designed, mask - like face was streaked with lines of dried blood streaming from the voids of her eyes. Her lips were still parted, as though still sounding her last scream before her consciousness was finally taken from her in a welcoming relief from the, _pain_ that no doubt flooded her every sense...!

Ulysses could only feel numb.

It felt _surreal_ , far too much so.

Ulysses did not even register when he stumbled into the chair he was currently sitting in, or to when Bishop had called out for several of the lesser clockwork soldiers to take the grisly container away.

He dropped his gaze onto both of his hands.

Pale, slender fingers trembled, even more so when Ulysses interlocked them together. Others may not see it, but _he_ could, Ulysses Septimus could see every drop of blood staining his fingers, his palms, the blood of those whom he valued so much yet failed so _miserably_ to protect from harm.

 _Mio Dio, what have I done_?

Once more, all of this was _his_ fault. Words would not have done justice to the rage and _hatred_ that Ulysses felt in this very moment, against himself, against his archnemesis and those Templars that had so brutally murdered Quintia.

 _This would not have happened, had I not been such a fool! Had I not sent them to that Templar infested island…_

The Supreme Commander of the Armada buried his face in his hands. The guilt bore down on his chest with the weight of a boulder, it crushed what remained of his heart and ripped open each and every one of the scars he bore on his body. There was no part of him that did not wish to _scream_ his agony up to the skies, to tear out the pulsing organ within his chest and _so much more_ to end this horrendous pain.

Ulysses flinched when a hand laid itself on his shoulder.

" _Commander_."

Servius Decimus' hand was shaking as well, and like any father would, Ulysses Septimus could sense the _pain_ , the fear coursing through every inch of the elite sniper's frame, try as he may to conceal it from the sight of everyone else.

The Supreme Commander of the Armada had to quite literally force himself to stand once more; how he managed to stumble back into his office was quite beyond him.

Vaguely, Ulysses became aware of the form of Servius Decimus standing behind him as he sat limply in his chair behind the great mahogny desk covered with neatly arranged piles of paper.

Perhaps it was just him, perhaps it really was the situation weighing down on him - but nevertheless, the Supreme Commander of the Armada found himself unable to move even a single muscle. So surreal was everything around him, some part of him still firmly believed this was nothing but a bad dream and if he tried, if he tried _hard enough,_ he could _wake up -_

" _What have I done, what have I done, what have I done…?!"_

Again and again he repeated those words like a mantra, as though this could possibly bring her back to him. Just as it had been the night that his beloved wife had perished, every memory Ulysses had of his daughter replayed before his eyes, memories of when she stood beside him in the rank indicating armor of the Praetorians.

How he had smiled, even thinly, behind his mask when Quintia Presidos first returned from suppressing the rebellions outside of Valencia; pride swelling within his chest, despite Ulysses being next to certain he no longer possessed a heart, after it had been dashed into thousands of shards from the retributions which made him who he was today.

"There was nothing you could have done to prevent it, Commander."

Servius' hands on his shoulders suddenly tightened - not enough to hurt, of course, but enough to prompt the Emperor of the Valencian Empire to look up into the face of the youngest of the Ulyssean Triumvirate within the chamber.

Albinus Crassus Militus.

Even he looked rather shaken, likely even more so than Ulysses himself. Only then did it strike Ulysses that Albinus had _never_ truly explored his archive of emotions, and within a situation such as this - !

"There is nothing that you could have done to stop it, Commander. It is certainly not your fault our sister had perished in this. It is true you were the one who had assigned her the mission to retrieve the traitor from the ruins of Skull Island, but it was not because of a failure in your calculations that she had been captured - "

" _NOT MY MISTAKE?!_ "

Ulysses shot up straight in his chair, just barely aware of the tears tricking down his face, and a part of his mind remarked how this was almost _unnervingly_ similar to the time when he had fallen into the grasp of despair after the murder of his first family - his mouth twisting into a scowl before the Supreme Commander of the Armada could stop himself.

" _HOW IS NONE OF THIS NOT MY FAULT? I WAS THE ONE THAT SENT HER INTO THAT DEATH TRAP, I WAS THE ONE WHO DID NOT CONSIDER IT ALL THOROUGHLY!_ "

His sobs choked in his throat by the time he had forced the words from his lips.

" _Father, please!_ "

Servius stepped around and stood before him, both of his hands now clasped around Ulysses' shoulders.

Ulysses froze. _Never_ had any of his creations ever called him by _that_ , they all referred to him as either Supreme Commander, Lord, or when they were alone with him, _creatore_ , the Valencian word for "creator".

Slowly, he turned his attention to his eldest creation, only briefly aware of Albinus' gaze on him, despite having only voids for eyes set into his mask - face like any other clockwork of the Valencian Armada.

"Father, we already lost our sister, and you are losing your grip..."

Servius paused, taking in several long draws of air to calm down his breathing pattern; all but hyperventilating.

"While it is indeed true we are all suffering from this pain, Father, I beg of you, please try to calm down yourself first. How can we obtain revenge when you are like _this_?"

It had taken them several seconds to do so, but Ulysses and Albinus had indeed agreed with Servius' words.

* * *

 **So now we finally see how Ulysses takes learning about the death of his precious "daughter" Quintia Presidos. Poor thing, but then again, which father does not feel complete and utter pain at the death of one of his own children? And poor Albinus, am I right? Being made entirely of intelligence does not prepare anyone for dealing with such intense emotions...  
**

 **Reviews are much appreciated, and until next time my dear readers :D**

 **-Hades**


	29. Chapter 29

Aetius Varius Septimus stood unmoving on the deck of the ship the _Spector_ , wind rippling through the folds of his blue and gold Assassin's robes.

His fingers were wrapped tightly around the hilt of the schiavona sword strapped to his wide belt, which also bore the insignia of the Valencian Assassin Order lined by sheathes of throwing knives. Like what one would expect of any other _Maestro Assassino_ , Aetius wore a suit of Seusenhofer armor over the robes: plate armor with black outlining.

From beneath his hood, the first of the clockwork assassins felt his lips twitch into a line.

He estimated it was likely not more than a few more hours before they would reach the ruins that was once the haven of the pirate faction.

Boots clanked with each of his steps over to the side of the ship, leaning his upper half against the railings of the ship. Had he been a human, Aetius' eyes would have closed in thought.

Ever since he was brought into this Spiral, Aetius Varius Septimus found himself very quickly thrust into a harsh world that required the absolute attention of one, or the tides of the events will swiftly sweep the balance from underneath your feet. Then there was those memories, those _emotions_ which coursed through him.

 _Hatred_ flowed through his veins whenever Aetius remembered the name of the Grand Master Templar Atticus Mercilus, of how he had so _brutally_ tortured the man he had came to known as his _father_ and creator. It burned deep within the clockwork Assassin, it made him conjur up images within his mind of what he would _do_ to the Templar, should his hand ever be upon the traitor who had abandoned his comrades for such a selfish cause.

 _Worry_ plagued his mind, much like it was now, upon thoughts he had of his own creator. Ulysses Septimus was the Emperor of the Valencian Armada, and the leader of the Valencian Order, one of the most powerful man in the Spiral, if not _the_ most powerful of the inhabitants of the Spiral. It made him wonder with _fear_ what his creator would do if a thought went too far, or if he would do something foolish -

Aetius only briefly allowed himself to linger on that thought.

 _A mission is a mission, let not your thinking process wonder off too far when all of your intelligence and processing power is required_.

The Assassin straightened himself, shifting the white cape over his left shoulder.

His gaze surveyed the clockworks upon the deck of the _Spector_. Clockwork marines, musketeers, and battle angels were about their stations around the ship, tending to either the cannons or the navigation. One hundred forty clockworks in total, more than enough to face off the Templar forces occupying the island.

That is, if they were deployed correctly of course.

Aetius leaned his back against the main mast of the ship. One gauntleted hand reached to his belt pouch, producing the sheet of parchment he had drawn up in the early hours of the trip when they first left from Valencia.

At first glance it would appear to be a normal map of the ruins of Skull Island, though in the margines were scribbled meticulous notes in the organized writing of a clockwork.

The clockwork assassin ran his finger down the notes, running them over in his mind thrice more -

Landing on the island, with as little sound as possible, march in with the aide of the Armada spy Secundus and bombard the Templar shelter with smoke bombs. Once they are driven out, close in for the kill, leave Adrian and Atticus alive to be captured and dragged back into Valencia for the justice they had so deserved.

Folding away the parchment once more, Aetius rested his hand on his sword.

 _So we are now in the nest of the serpent_.

"Prepare for combat!"

Rooke's thunderous voice boomed across the deck, almost as though it was what shook the ship when it finally docked at the once bloodstained beach. Vividly, Aetius found himself recalling the memories of when this so called _haven_ of the Resistance was annihilated by the might of the Armada in that one bloody night, swept away by the wrath of his creator and Commander Ulysses Septimus.

"Do not remain in formation if situation calls, and capture their leaders Devereaux and Mercilus alive, do not, under _any_ circumstance, terminate them."

Aetius drew his schiavona blade from its sheath at his side, sand crunching underneath his boots. Nothing could compare to the thunderous footsteps of the Armada Grand Marshal Rooke, though.

The clockwork assassin tuned the rest of the situation out after this; on a sort of autopilot while trailing the uniform clad form of Secundus, who had accompanied all of them silently.

Only absentmindedly did he notice how much white bones littered the sands, bones weathered by the ages, marked with weapon marks that sang of the bloodbath which transpired here without words. Aetius could _feel_ the gaze of those empty skulls on his back as he followed Secundus toward the Templar hideout, gazes of pure hatred against him and anyone else of the Valencian Imperial Armada.

His thought process was abruptly interrupted at this point, when Secundus held out an arm and stopped him.

" _We are here_."

Aetius would have arched an eyebrow at the sight, had he not possessed a mask for a face, for what appeared before him appeared in noway to be in condition to serve as a base to an entire faction. There was no fortifications of any sort, no guards posted on patrols, simply a wooden door with a chain draped around it.

"Musketeers, prepare incindiary shots."

A collective click sounded as all of the musketeers held their muskets into firing position.

"Dragoons, marines, prepare your weapons for direct combat. Leave no survivors but ensure to capture Atticus Mercilus and his companion Adrian Devereaux."

The sound produced by fifty muskets going off was deafening, filling the air with smoke as the newly developed incendiary bullets were launched directly into the so called Templar base Secundus had pointed out.

Varius waved his sword once, and though he did not look back to see if his clockwork soldiers followed him, the thunderous sound of footsteps was enough.

The first Templar to charge him met his fate on the other end of Varius' schiavona sword: the assassin reaching out and grabbing his shoulder, yanking him right onto the blade until it protruded out of the man's back and coated in the life blood that had once been pumped through his _weak_ frame of flesh.

 _Weak, pathetic pawns to the traitor and serpent of a man who had betrayed his brothers, all for the most selfish reason in the Spiral-!_

A dull thud sounded upon the impact of the unnamed Templar's corpse hitting the ground, after being pushed off of Varius' weapon by the clockwork Assassin. His attention turned away from the corpse, to the battle din which now enveloped the air around his entirety, the din of muskets and dragoon autocannons firing and of metal clashing back and forth, halberds and swords trading blows left and right -

Varius threw out his sword arm, a shower of sparks flying between interlocked blades. Had he possessed human eyes, they would have narrowed as he looked upon the face of the man who had been so bold as to attempt something such as this.

Metal screeched obnoxiously, _wailed_ as the clockwork Assassin yanked his sword back; a flick of his wrist to send the gears turning, forcing the hidden blade within the steel bracer out in a matter of seconds.

By the time the Templar's body joined the other still cooling corpses of the others attempting to defend the base, Aetius had already found himself briskly walking away from it and continuing down the halls, navigating by pure memory of the map Secundus had drawn in order to plan for the attack.

 _Left, right, left left_.

He did not hear the sound of the dagger flying through the air just as he rounded the corner, and Aetius found himself staggering back several steps until he could yank the dagger out of where it was lodged in his side.

 _Alert! Damage level 11%!_

Aetius yanked the dagger out of his side, wincing sharply at the burning pain of it racing through his frame and dropping it onto the ground; his head snapping up sharply only mere seconds before the dagger from the hands of _Adrian Devereaux_ buried into his neck. There was no other face Varius would remember more vividly than this man - no, _worm_ , who had caused his creator and commander so much pain.

His left hand shot out, wrapping around Devereaux's wrist and twisting it away. It would be a lie if Varius said such did not give him a sense of _thrill_ , how the gravity seemed to drop away from underneath him for a split second when the swashbuckler's face contorted into an expression of pain, hazel eyes meeting the voids in his mask - face.

 _Devereaux, you may have been able to escape Valencian law for the crimes you have committed, now you have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, prepare to face your fate_.

The fear in the swashbuckler's eyes was almost _palpable_ , and this was all Varius needed for time.

Aetius brought up one leg, a dull thud resounding through the battle din of the hallway as Adrian Devereaux was launched through the air like a rag doll from the force of his kick; rolling several feet until a pillar in the tunnel stopped him, dust coating the former pirate's Templar armor.

The clockwork Assassin turned his blade over in his hand, drawing his hidden blade's poison blade attachment with the sleep dart attachment. A part of him wished to savor this moment, of killing this disgusting worm of a criminal. After all, was not this not one of the two who had participated in the assassination of the first Supreme Commander Kane - ?

One prick of the blade was enough to knock Devereaux out, all movement ceasing save for the swashbuckler's weak breathing.

Varius turned his gaze to the battle raging around him, having slung the swashbuckler's form over his left shoulder -

Rooke left a trail of destruction in his wake, his halberd an arc of pure and complete destruction against anything which dared to stand in his way. No one could reach within more than five feet of the titan general without being evisicerated, or, should they be at the just right distance, their torsos would be cut open enough to keep them barely alive; a slow, painful end that would have them bleed out in a slow, agonizing death -

Leaving the body of the swashbuckler in the care of the dragoon Admiral Valenus, _relief_ flowed through Aetius, even though it was but a fleeting sensation when he was forced back into combat against the Templars.

He would have to give them some credit here, though, with how persistent they are against the face of the overwhelming clockwork forces.

It was not until several more minutes passed before the battle ended.

Sheathing his schiavona sword, the clockwork Assassin's gaze turned to the two prisoners they had captured during the course of the battle. While he had been able to keep his appearance a emotionless and proper as what was expected of a clockwork, Aetius' gauntled hand tightened harshly around the hilt of his sword.

"Templar Grand Master Atticus Mercilus, traitor to the Assassin Order and perpetrator of the bloodbath at Monteriggioni."

There was no possible chance for the "son" of the Supreme Commander to hold back the hatred, _the anger_ from permeating his voice upon looking on the face of the man who had contributed to all of this and of the pain Ulysses had felt, even though Ulysses himself may not have shown others how much it tore him apart inside.

"Another one of Ulysses' spawns, eh...?"

Those eyes that met the voids in his mask could only be described as _cold_ , and even Aetius could not prevent the slight shiver those eyes sent down his back. This was someone who clearly bore _no_ sympathy, no care for anyone else in this world, perhaps not even his own soldiers should time call out for it. He did not care about the amount of blood he would spill in the process -

"Your Creator have made you well, that much I shall admit. However, how much more this could change, I will not guarantee so."

Aetius, at this point, was more confused than he was angry.

"Explain this, Templar."

"Make me, _Assassin_."

Atticus held his head high, a ghost of a smirk on the corners of his lips. While the chains around him was wrapped tight enough to prevent him from moving even a single muscle, the Templar Grand Master did not even appear _fazed_ in any way, for some unknown reason.

"Enough, take the prisoner back to the ship and prepare to return to Valencia."

Rooke's impatient voice boomed through the tunnels - which had turned into a scene of slaughter and carnage after the clockwork soldiers had all but decimated the Templars, the few survivors not even worthy of hunting down - impatience clear in his voice, from the undertone that threatened anyone who dared to question him.

The lesser clockworks complied, however, dragging the Templar Grand Master along by the chains, along the once bloodied sands to the _Spector_.

"Lord Septimus, look."

Aetius' attention was turned toward the direction of the Skull Mountain, where a dark shape could be seen staggering toward them. While some part of him screamed at him to prepare for a battle, the logical part of him, which held much, much more control over his processor, made Aetius stop and watch as the shape came closer.

"Captain Optimus!?"

Secundus was the first to step out, wrapping an arm around the battered looking marine's shoulders, supporting him with his own strength:

What was once pristine, polished armor, was dented and dirtied, as was the flawless white mask he wore on his face. He could just barely support his own weight, and perhaps only rightfully so from his dangerously thin frame; surely would have fallen if it wasn't for the cyborg spy.

 _Lieutenant of the Supreme Commander, Sentus Optimus_.

Aetius' crystal heart felt as though it had suddenly dropped into the pit of his torso. The memories Ulysses had given him was more than enough to show him the importance of this particular cyborg, of how he was the first to stand next to the former human elite, once simply a captain of the Armada.

"Bring the Captain back to the ship as well, we cannot afford to stall any longer."

Secundus and the rest of the soldiers acknowledged his command with their silence: moving quickly back to the _Spector_ , with the spy supporting Optimus' weight.

The clockwork Assassin turned his attention toward the soldiers escorting the prisoners down into the dungeons, and immediately the sense pure _hatred_ which coursed through him from before, returned almost twice as strong. Aetius was quite _certain_ , at this point, if he was a human, his face would have twisted into a dangerous expression of _rage_.

He threw the cloak he had worn over one shoulder, waving aside the other soldiers as he made his way across the deck. Every step he took, Aetius felt the hatred within him grow _stronger_ , burning his being with images of what he _must_ do to this man for what atrocities he had comitted in the past.

By the time Aetius stopped before the cell in which the Templar Master was confined, the _hatred_ had grown into a burning fire within him. It had taken all of his willpower to keep himself from wanting to simply open the cell door, draw his Hidden Blades and end him right there and then on the spot. And even then it would be nothing when compared to the pain he had inflicted upon his creator in the past -

"Atticus Mercilus, dishonorable traitor who had betrayed his brothers."

Aetius' gauntleted hand had curled in on to a trembling fist, words all but hissed out. Now there was no one else around to see this, he could _afford_ to let his emotionless facade drop for a moment, to let out those emotions bubbling deep inside of him. What the clockwork Assassin would not admit, even internally, however, was the fact that he was _confused_ , so utterly confused at this utter onslaught of information from his processor: the emotions, the memories rushing through his vision field.

"Son of Ulysses Septimus."

The chained Templar Master's dark eyes focused on his once more, cold and unwavering.

"So young and naïve, just like your creator was. What he failed to realize is the grand picture, of the ultimate outcome that would result from this battle between the Templars and the Assassins, the battles that had shaped the outline of this Spiral's destiny. The Assassins are a doomed cause, and why remain in the doomed cause, fighting so foolishly for so called justice when the Templar Order will be the victor?"

"This is not an excuse for you to become a traitor to the comrades who had so trusted you!"

 _Disgusting traitor, spineless coward! It truly is no surprise he had lost the tournament for the throne of the Grand Master, an unworthy coglione!_

Aetius crossed the cell in two strides, his rough backhand strong enough to toss the Templar's head back against the wall and creating a dull sound. This sound alone was enough to bring him satisfaction, this sensation of _fullfilment_ at even this minor pain he had managed to cause to the traitor of the Assassins.

"I may not have the authority to end you, Mercilus, but you will feel the pain of those whom you have so cowardly betrayed before the doors of Monteriggioni-!"

* * *

 **Longest chapter ever in this whole story, si? And yes, we finally see the true fate of Sentus Optimus and watch as Aetius successfully return from his first ever mission assigned by the Supreme Commander. I am also quite curious, my dear readers, what are you guys' opinions on the Templar Grand Master Atticus Mercilus? Clockwork Assassin Aetius Varius?**

 **Bonus points if anyone figured out what the DNA memory thing comes from.**

 **Until next time! :D**

 **-Hades**


	30. Chapter 30

It would be several hours, two at the very least, before Aetius took his leave of the dungeons below the deck of the _Spector_. It was tedious work to force himself to hold back, to _not_ spill every single drop of the damned traitor's blood onto the floor of the cell he was kept in; the clockwork's gaze shifting from his now bloodied gauntlet to the cyborg spy Secundus.

"Lord Aetius."

Secundus stood and bowed, both in respect to his position and the authority that he currently held. Even with that, however, Aetius noted how the spy's gaze lingered for a brief second upon his bloodied hands. The clockwork assassin supposed that he could not blame him, after all, the cyborg spy was still mostly a human, with human _emotions_.

"Secundus."

The clockwork assassin made sure to wipe the blood off his hands, although the question still lingered upon his mind -

 _What does this accomplish?_

Aetius Varius could almost not believe that it was _he_ who had inflicted the pain, so much pain, onto the Templar Grandmaster; beating him relentlessly until blood dripped out of the corners of his mouth. This was _not_ him, this was not a defined aspect of the original orders of the Supreme Commander. And yet he had _done_ it, he had went beyond the orders of his creator.

All of these thoughts disappeared from his processor when Secundus' voice sounded once again.

"Lord Aetius, while I have no doubt that the Supreme Commander will be pleased that you have brought two of his greatest foes to justice, I - "Secundus paused, and Varius could see that he was carefully considering his next words by the telltale way his lips thinned and his gaze turned away.

"I cannot help but fear for his stability, I have feared ever since the Supreme Commander Kane perished. I doubt it was there to begin with, even before he enlisted to join the Armada."

Secundus wrung his hands, turning his gaze away from Varius. His lips were trembling, as though something was heavily troubling him. The son of the Supreme Commander dismissed it, however: there was no importance in this, not now, at least. Not when they had two _important_ prisoners on the ship.

"Continue, Secundus, what is it that you wish to speak to me about?"

"Lord Aetius, with all due respect, while I do agree those fools deserve whatever is coming to them, I do not know if Lord Ulysses' mind is stable enough to issue a proper sentence."

Aetius found himself leaning against the side of the _Spector_ , resting his weight on his elbows as his eyes found the spy's. It was impossible for him not to consider, to _wonder_ just how accurate Secundus' words were. Was it not true that Ulysses, his own father and creator, was losing his grip? Varius now recalled all those times he spent pacing around his office, muttering about how he would unleash his vengeance upon those who had wronged him.

The Spiral threads passed by like the many ships in the skyways of Valencia, worlds spinning around in their respective spheres of light. Briefly, Aetius wondered just how similar this was to his creator's thoughts, flying around endlessly, like the worlds would about the void, barely held within range by the invisible chains of gravity.

"In regards to that…I do agree."

Varius winced, the words had felt sharp upon his lips.

"The last time I heard, Lieutenant Commander Servius Decimus tried to talk reason into him, but he did not listen."

Secundus' voice trailed off toward the end of the sentence, unable to continue any longer.

 _And perhaps that was for the best_.

These thoughts flowed through Varius' processor as the _Spector_ pushed through the stormgates of Valencia, into the emerald green world which was the capital of the Valencian Empire. It truly was fitting to say that this was the seat of power of the Armada, the very center of the empire controlled by the careful hands of the clockwork regime. Some part of the Assassin almost wanted to laugh at how _foolish_ the opposers of Valencian power were.

All of this, at least hundreds of thousands of clockwork soldiers, led by a combination of mechanical men and Imperial officers appointed by Ulysses himself. The numbers were stacked against any resistance in all aspects, such that choosing to fight would be considered ridiculous.

And the image of the double doors of the fortress only served to strengthen this thought within Aetius' mind:

Squadrons of clockworks patrolled this area of the fortress, lead by elegantly armored Royal Guard clockworks. Never would they tire, never would they sleep, and always they would stand to guard this fair empire and her people even through the darkest times. It was a foolish, illogical thought to assume that the Valencians were anything but _satisfied_ with their clockwork protectors, as evident by the respect in the eyes of the Valencians as Varius stepped from the Armada ship trailed by the Grand Marshal Rooke.

"Bring the prisoners along, the Supreme Commander will wish to see them."

Rooke's voice boomed across the crowded docking area of the Armada fortress, ringing even above the din of the capital city of Valencia; tapping the end of his halberd almost impatiently on the cobblestones while a group of marines dragged the swashbuckler Adrian Devereaux, thick chains crossing his torso and restraining his arms.

Curses were flying from the swashbuckler's mouth, although the clockwork marines escorting him paid no attention. Neither did Aetius himself, however: there was absolutely no need to, considering that these were merely the death throes of a condemned prisoner whose days were numbered.

The double doors leading into the Armada's primary base of operations swung open, held by the two Royal Guards at the gates.

"Lord Aetius, Grand Marshal."

Octavius Caesarus brought one hand up to his sculpted brow in a crisp Armada salute.

"The Supreme Commander is awaiting your presence in the throne room with the prisoners, Grand Marshal. And Lord Aetius, Lieutenant Commanders Servius Decimus and Albinus Militus would like a few private words with you if you can, in the war council chamber."

Aetius found himself simply nodding at this. Strange as it might be for the Supreme Commander to wish to see the titan General of the Armada while he was the one the Commander had appointed to lead the mission to capture them, Aetius would not question him. Perhaps it was just his ingrained sense of loyalty, to not question the Supreme Commander who was the one that had created him.

So he simply nodded, turned and begun his way down the hall to the war council chamber.

The hallways of Cadiz at this moment were rather empty, save for the occasional clockwork patrol led by the Royal Guards in their black and red armor. No one paid him any attention, something which Aetius could say he was _thankful_ for.

He halted in front of the war chamber before pushing the doors open and stepping through, closing the double doors behind him.

"Brother."

Servius Decimus placed one hand over his chest, directly over the point where his heart would have been, had he been a human. It was almost impossible to read anything from the voids set into his mask - face. However, Aetius could pick up on a trace of what seemed to be _nervousness_ and even _sadness_.

 _Of what? What has transpired while I was away...?!_

It would be a lie to say that Aetius Varius was not alarmed by all of this. Possibilities flew through his processor at a speed even _he_ could not comprehend, each more morbid than the rest and some even he dared not to examine -

"I regret to inform you that our sister Quintia has been deactivated... Her remains were just sent back to us after you left for the Templar base on Skull Island."

The realization struck Aetius with the impact of a two-ton boulder. It felt as though someone had suddenly yanked the ground out from underneath his feet, sending him spiraling downward with no end in sight, only to fall, fall, and _fall_ forever and ever. And even when the sensation faded away, nothing prepared Aetius to feel the fiery hatred that had coursed through his lines and his processing.

"Atticus Mercilus."

 _He will pay for all of this, he will feel the pain he has caused…!_

Aetius Varius found that he had to fight to control his breathing rate as his heart ached within his chest, aching as though there were knives digging into it and twisting _hard_.

"Creator took it even harder, brother..."

The clockwork Assassin could swear he felt his heart almost _stop_ , and he slowly pivoted until he faced his other brother Albinus Crassus Militus.

"He was shattered, to say the very least."

Albinus' voice wavered at this, and that alone was enough to drive what felt like yet _another_ blade into his chest. _He_ was usually the one so calm in all situations, the one capable of analyzing even the most dire of situations.

The elite sniper drew in a trembling breath, his slender fingered hands gripping the edge of the table where the elites usually held their meetings. His entire frame was trembling, shivering in the fashion of a man caught outside in the cold, until Servius placed a hand on his shoulder.

Aetius, had he possessed the eyes of a human, was rather certain tears would have escaped him. And perhaps that would have felt better, perhaps it would have released those emotions within him which gnawed at every inch of his flesh with every passing minute.

But there were only voids in his mask - face.

Those dark voids which so many of the Resistance had called soulless depths.

Therefore those emotions could only be left to rot and fester within Aetius Varius' heart.

His heart.

 _How ironic_.

His heart was what gave him his powers as the clockwork assassin, the one and only of his kind. His father and creator's gift to him, Aetius recalled, which perhaps served to make it only that much more _ironic_.

This source of his _power_.

This source of his _pain_.

It ached, it throbbed within his torso, each beat feeling as though a knife was being driven into his flesh.

And it was also in that moment Aetius found himself slumping against the wall; unable to stand any longer. He could not _comprehend,_ it was unjust, _unfair_ -!

What had any of them done to deserve this? What had their _creator_ done to deserve this pain?

The thoughts and the flurry of images of what he would _do_ to the bastard Atticus stopped just as sudden as it had appeared within his processor. -

Only to be replaced by a pain even stronger than the pain of this _loss_ he felt, at the sight of his oldest brother Servius seated in a nearby chair, burying his face in one hand and his entire frame trembling even more so than Albinus had been before.

What greater punishment could there be to watch a sibling suffer, and yet ben unable to help?

* * *

 **Aetius returns for the grave news... Which will be of importance later (evil grins) and who here feels like they want to give poor Servius and Albinus a hug? Poor things after all they went through...  
**

 **Reviews are appreciated! :D and now until next time!**

 **-Hades**


	31. Chapter 31

His heart had soared at the sight before him. Ulysses Septimus could swear he had never before felt such _euphoria_ , save for perhaps when he had laid the first obtained map piece before the Supreme Commander Kane. Both of his enemies, who were very much responsible for nearly every one of his losses, had now fallen into his hands.

Ulysses now turned to face the other figure in the room - Sentus Optimus - who had all but dropped to his knees before the Supreme Commander.

"Forgive me, Commander... I have failed you."

By the end of the sentence, his voice had nearly threatened to break. Ulysses' fingers tightened around the arms of his throne. It would be a lie to say he did not feel his heart _wrench_ , and for a moment, even the voices within the Supreme Commander's mind went silent.

"Rise, Captain Optimus."

How he had managed to keep his voice so calm was beyond him.

"None of this was your fault, those matters were out of your control."

Shakily, the marine stood, bowing his head and retreating until he was among the rows of clockwork soldiers within the throne room. At this, Ulysses returned his gaze to the two prisoners who had been forced to their knees.

"Atticus Mercilus, we meet again."

Ulysses had to _fight_ the urge within him, the urge which thirsted for the blood of the traitor. The Supreme Commander of the Armada tightened his grip on the armrests of his throne; his mask hiding the snarl which would have betrayed just how _weak_ he truly was on the inside, how he was still an instrument of those very _human_ emotions within him.

Dark eyes met scarlet ones.

" _Supreme Commander_."

Atticus snorted, unfazed and unmoved by the sight before him which would have unnerved anyone else in the very least. Ulysses could swear he caught sight of a smirk lingering on the side of Mercilus' face. Had it been up to him, Mercilus would _never_ have knelt before the one man he had sworn to completely _destroy_.

"Enjoying your little pedestal, _Emperor_?"

Octavius Caesarus' halberd immediately pointed toward the Templar's throat, turning his gaze to the Supreme Commander of the Armada, and Ulysses would admit, it was tempting, extremely tempting, to simply _let_ Octavius end the traitor right here and right _now_.

But he did not - after all, he had been _captured_ now, and he would face _justice_ soon enough.

"Unlike you, traitorous snake, I built my empire from ground up and earned it through my own ability. Never would I betray any of my comrades...!"

The Templar's head tilted to the side, arching an eyebrow.

"Wasn't that what you _screamed_ in my dungeons?"

And that brought back an entirely new wave of memories, memories of the time when he was trapped in the dark cell within Atticus' dungeon. Vividly, Ulysses recalled the _burning pain_ which shot through him when his flesh was nearly cleaved from his bones; the scourge befalling his body blow after blow, until the vertebrae of his spine had nearly been uncovered.

It was not until Atticus spoke again that Ulysses realized he had been nearly hyperventilating, resisting the urge to place his hand upon his heart.

"Look at you now, Ulysses Septimus, perched atop of Kane's throne as if you had never _failed_ him."

"Enough."

Aetius Varius Septimus stepped forwards, his left hand resting upon the hilt of the schiavona sword at his hip. Perhaps Aetius could hide it from the eyes of the other clockworks, both the lesser soldiers and the elites, Ulysses was certain, he had seen a brief flash of what seemed to be _rage_ on the face of the clockwork assassin.

"Your reign ends today, Templar."

Aetius snapped his fingers. Two marines immediately stepped from the surrounding ranks of clockworks, seizing Atticus' arms and dragging him off to the dungeons of Cadiz.

Ulysses drew in a sharp breath. It had felt so _surreal_ , so dream - like.

 _After so long, my enemies have finally been brought to justice_ -

 _GIVE THEM PAIN. SHOW THEM. SHOW THEM WHAT IT MEANS TO CROSS YOU_.

The voices only grew louder with each passing minute, clashing until it was impossible to differentiate them -

 _Dio, STOP!_

A steadying hand on his shoulder finally quieted them, and Ulysses found himself gazing into the void - like eyes of his youngest and newest creation - Aetius Varius Septimus. Then and only then did he turn his attention to the figure before him _now_.

 _Adrian Devereaux_.

The memories retreated, yes, they had fled away from him in the blink of an eye. Triumph had swelled once more within Ulysses' chest - perhaps it was the joy of revenge, perhaps it was the fear within Devereaux's eyes or maybe even a combination of both, he concluded.

 _Here is the man who brought down the Lord Kane, the scum who will at last face his punishment for what he has done... Oh Lavinia, my love, my rose, I will avenge you finally_...

"We meet again, Devereaux."

His slender fingers pinched the last surviving pirate's chin, forcing him to look into the visors of his masked face. Septimus drew in a sharp breath, and the smile under his mask only grew _wider_.

"I-impossible, you aren't supposed to be alive!"

Adrian stuttered, very nearly hyperventilating as he tried to shrink away from the Supreme Commander of the Armada.

It had taken Ulysses a second to realize that Adrian believed him to be _Kane himself._

This was even better, oh yes, let him remember all of his previous crimes, the _sins_ which he had committed.

"Ah, but _I am_ , as you can see."

With the mask altering his voice into a smooth monotone, Ulysses was certain he was a _perfect_ replica.

Abruptly releasing the pirate swashbuckler, Ulysses took a step back. After so long, masquerading as Kane had become second nature to him, as sad as it seemed to be: forever condemned to be only a shadow of the first Supreme Commander of the Armada, a man in a costume and a mask.

"Adrian Devereaux, are you aware of the sins and the crimes you have committed?"

As he watched, realization crashed down on the pirate swashbuckler, his eyes widening abruptly, and he struggled against the holds of the marines restraining him.

 _He is afraid._

 _Fear me, fear me you disgusting worm of a man! Remember the monster you have created with your own two hands_...!

Ulysses' hand clamped down around his throat; it was tempting to strangle Devereaux right then and there. He could feel his pulse beneath his fingertips, frantic and racing with the fear that Ulysses could _sense_ coursing through him.

"Are you aware of the crimes that you have committed against the Armada, against the Spiral? Piracy, assassination of a Armada officer, conspiring for rebellion and sedition."

Adrian's lips parted as though to protest against those charges, even though he had no breath to do so with.

The pirate gasped for air when the Supreme Commander's hold upon his throat finally loosened, still not daring to actually look up and meet his piercing gaze.

"You have nothing else to say for yourself? Very well then, take him down into the dungeons, block C. He will die tomorrow at high noon with the Templar traitor."

Sitting back in his throne as Devereaux was dragged away, he looked upon the pirate's face once more - and he _remembered._

This man whose face had haunted his nightmares almost as much as that of the Templar traitor, this man who had caused him so much pain and snatched his master and Commander from him. He had once been so _arrogant,_ and _his_ pedestal was now toppled, leaving him with _nothing_ left.

Indeed, Ulysses was quite satisfied.

The double doors of the throne room slammed shut.

The Supreme Commander now directed his attention to the elites and clockwork soldiers around him. To many others, the void - like gaze of the clockworks was extremely unnerving, as if one was gazing into the pits of hell itself - yet Ulysses found it _impossible_ , in all honesty, to look away at times -

"Come forth, Aetius, Secundus, Grand Marshal Rooke."

The three clockworks bowed before the Supreme Commander, each averting their gaze out of respect for the lord of the Valencian Empire.

"A job well done to each of you, bringing both of my enemies to justice."

"It is a honor to serve you, Supreme Commander."

A collective salute from the three, even though Rooke _still_ appeared to only do so out of forced protocol.

Secundus returned to the side of the spymaster, his rifle still slung over his shoulder; Aetius took his position by Septimus himself and Rooke returned, where Ulysses' throne sat.

"You are dismissed."

While the elites and soldiers dispersed to their posts and personal quarters, Ulysses found himself rising mechanically from his throne, boots landing somewhat heavily on each of the steps down the dias. None of the Royal Guards questioned him when he passed by, even though Septimus could feel their gaze on his back -

 _Is it not ironic, Ulysses? You forged these Royal Guard clockworks to be the bodyguards of the Supreme Commander, made them to be his perfect protectors. They are your creations, and creators should be above those that they create. And now look at you! You, who made these Royal Guards, yet you still failed to protect him!_

He halted before the door to the dungeon.

Scarlet eyes closed behind his mask. Try as he might, Ulysses found himself unable to force back the tears welling within the corners of his eyes. Meeting his enemies once more had brought back the memory of the _one_ dreaded day which had haunted his nightmares relentlessly.

All of this was almost far too surreal for him.

Kane, the Supreme Commander of the Armada, the most perfect being of the Spiral, was gone.

Another death, another failure upon his never-ending list.

 _"Please, just stop already…"_

 _Is this truly you, Ulysses? You sound so weak and so pathetic - FAILURE, pathetic!_

Those voices in his head grew louder and _louder_. Words blended into each other, mixed with the hissing cackles of _who knows what_. However, there was one voice that rang out much more prominently than all the rest -

 _Failure, failure, failure, failure, failure_...

Ulysses had to lean against the wall for support, for his legs no longer seemed capable of supporting his weight.

Were these voices not _correct_ in their accusations? Was he _not_ the cause of so many undeserved deaths? Ezio, Lavinia, Kane... All of their deaths could have been prevented, had he been a little _quicker,_ a little less _weak -!_

He growled deep in his throat, a guttural sound which surprised even Ulysses himself : there was after all a reason why Kane had chosen him , he would not have picked him if he was not up to the clockwork king's standards -

 _But why would a_ _god_ _choose an imperfect man?_

It was no matter, he decided - he had an empire to run, and the Armada depended upon him for guidance and his loyal subjects looked to him as their leader.

And he had a promise to fulfill, a promise of _revenge_.

Ulysses' gaze turned toward the black steel door leading into the dungeons where his soldiers had confined the Templar Grand Master and Adrian Devereaux.

The door swung open to his presence, revealing a place many would have believed to be _filled_ with prisoners of the Armada condemned to die.

While it was partially true, it was not exactly accurate at this point. Tonight, there would only be two prisoners within the dungeon, two _temporary_ guests.

The Supreme Commander did not know what had came over him - taking the mask off as he made his way into the dungeon, as though he _could_ name what he was feeling.

Both of the prisoners were chained to the wall within their cells, the length of the chains dramatically reduced and the bars electrified to prevent any attempts of escape. When it came to security within their prisons, few could best the clockworks, Ulysses firmly believed.

Tempting as it was to laugh at how absolutely terrified Adrian Devereaux was, how he was staring at him, mouth agape in disbelief at the sight before him - _at the man behind the mask_.

 _Oh, sweet irony. They brand me a monster when they are the cause of it_.

Ulysses reached over, tapping on the grey circuitry box of chromium steel until the compartment door opened: it was an old system for this kind of high technology security, but a useful one nevertheless -

Once the bars were deactivated, the Supreme Commander had to once more fight his urges to _dash_ into the cell and _rip_ the traitor apart - how he was able to accomplish a steady walk into the cell was beyond Ulysses' perception.

Atticus' dark eyed gaze never left his, showing no fear nor any other sort of emotion other than pure, undiluted hatred.

"You must have truly enjoyed making a monster out of me, huh?"

Ulysses spat the words out through gritted teeth. _This_ was the man, the cause for the bloodbath at Monteriggioni, the one who had very nearly brought the entire Assassin Order down with the information he had given up to the Templar Order. _He_ was the cause of Ezio's death, and then Lavinia's and Kane's when Ulysses had thought he would be spared of any more of the Templars' cruelty.

"It certainly was interesting to watch the oh so _noble_ Altaïr fall, I will admit."

Atticus chuckled, despite the manacles around his wrists rendering him unable to move an inch.

"You call yourself the Protector of Innocents, the Bane of Evildoers and of tyrants, and yet, you stoop so low as to send your toy soldiers in to slaughter my men just so you may capture me. How _low_ you've gone, _Octavian Superbus_."

This time, Ulysses _did_ flinch at the mention of his true, given name. For so long, he had chosen to call himself _Ulysses Caesarion Septimus_ , to follow in his brother Ezio's footsteps and cut his ties with the man who was supposed to be his father. Not to mention there were also far too many memories attached to that name, and mentioning it had brought them back with the ferocity of a rampaging bull.

"That name means nothing to me, Mercilus, just as much as the Assassin Order means nothing to you."

This time, he could _not_ stop himself from stepping forward and clamping a hand down on the Templar's throat, steel fingers tightening until he was certain he could see Atticus' eyes bulging out.

"Is this not what you have wanted for seven years? For me to be at _your_ mercy like you once were at mine?"

Atticus chuckled, not even a hint of fear showing in his eyes.

Ulysses almost had to pry his own fingers from around the throat of his archnemesis -

Only to harshly backhand the Templar, strong enough to send his head slamming backwards against the cold steel wall of the cell.

"And only rightfully so, isn't it, Templar traitor?"

Ulysses spat out the words with contempt. There was _no_ other man in the Spiral, save for perhaps Adrian Devereaux, whom Ulysses detested more than Atticus Mercilus. How the Order had trusted him, he recalled, calling him a _brother_ , a _comrade_ in arms, and Mercilus had betrayed them in return.

"We trusted you, called you our brother and gave you the secrets of our trade and of our brotherhood for you to guard. More than one hundred lives extinguished all because of your greed, what do you have to say for yourself, _serpent_?!"

"The Templars are but _tools_ in my agenda, oh _Grand Master_."

Finally did the facade slip from the current Grandmaster of the Templar Order as he hissed the words at Ulysses in a way that made the contemptuous name of _serpent_ fitting. No longer did Mercilus respond with a facade of feigned calmness; all of his hatred and anger against Ulysses now very palpable.

" _You_ are the fool here to not have seen through it, and _you_ are the fool to think that you can hold on to the throne of the Grand Master without repercussions after you blatantly _stole_ it from me - !"

The punch Ulysses delivered into Mercilus' stomach cut him short, silencing any other words that he would have spat towards the Supreme Commander.

" _Vaffanculo, figlio di puttana_!"

He could _not_ control himself at this point, and Ulysses could only _watch_ from a corner in his conscious mind as he battered the Templar with his fists and his hands, his body acting on its own accord. He was shouting something, something along the lines of "If it was not for you, my brother would have still been alive," Peppered with occasional curse in the native language of Valencia which could still not have embodied the absolute _hatred_ he felt, the disgust and _rage_ burning within his chest as the voices screeched for him to _tear him apart_.

Speckles of blood doused his hands and parts of his uniform, turning a few areas of the black fabric maroon.

Ulysses did not know _how_ long it had been when he stopped beating the Templar.

He was gasping, his gaze fleeting from his bloodstained gloves to the bruised and beaten Templar.

Blood was dripped from the corner of his mouth, his nose bent at an awkward angle - most definitely broken. He had certainly sensed one of Mercilus' ribs crack underneath his fists; bruises in the shape of fingers around the fifty five year old man's throat.

"Oh come on, _Octavian_ , you can do much better than that. Where is the strength of yours from the tournament? Or perhaps I am, mistaken, and you truly _are_ a weakling!"

Ulysses growled incomprehensibly, his left arm twitching once and forcing the Hidden Blade out of the gauntlet within his sleeve. He brought the blade up against the side of Atticus' throat, the point just barely dancing over the pulse in his throat. One quick stroke of his blade would end it all, one quick motion that would cut his throat wide open and spill his blood upon the stones of the dungeon floor.

But even then, even _if_ he had, Ulysses _knew_ that even that would not have satisfied him.

* * *

 **Things are starting to near the end, but this certainly does not mean it is going to get any less exciting (evil grins). Check back next chapter!**

 **Reviews are much appreciated :D until next time!**

 **-Hades**


	32. Chapter 32

To say that the guilt was crushing him would be a understatement.

Sentus Optimus had half expected the Supreme Commander to snap at him for letting the Templars capture his daughter, to lash out at him, even to punish him for failing to accomplish his task which he had entrusted him with, only for him to fail.

This only made it hurt like a searing hot brand pressed against what little human flesh he still had underneath the armor he wore. He did not dare to meet the eyes of the Supreme Commander even as he was ordered to rise and take his position among the rest of the soldiers of the Grand Armada.

His one human eye closed behind his mask, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

Never had Optimus felt so much _guilt_ , not since he first woke up in this cyborg form and remembered the chaos he had caused when he was a pirate by the name of Wolf Hawkins. Never had he felt so much _shame_ , shame from promising to do the good he was perfectly capable of, but not keeping to his word.

His gaze was then turned to the figure of the two who had taken Quintia's life, the Templar Grandmaster and the last remaining pirate swashbuckler in perhaps the entire Spiral. How he wished he could sum up the rage within him, the anger he could call upon since he had felt the betrayal of the Resistance, to _tear_ both of them apart right where they stood.

The hollow sensation within him did not go away, and the rage only flickered like a weak flame before it went out completely. After all, was not _he_ the very reason why Quintia had been captured? He, Sentus Optimus, had run away from the battle like a disgusting _coward_.

 _Shame on you, shame on you for failing your Commander._

It did not help that he also realized he had not heard of the fate of the secondary leader of the Royal Guards ever since he had returned to Cadiz.

" _Atticus Mercilus, we meet again_."

The figure Optimus had learned to identify as the Templar Grand Master simply sneered. This was perhaps far more unnerving than if he was cursing the Lord of the Valencian Empire, or if he was struggling against the holds upon his upper arms. Mercilus did none of those; the smirk lingering upon his lips.

Optimus found his eyes turning to the Supreme Commander Ulysses Septimus.

Those others had not realized who was _truly_ seated upon the throne of the Valencian Empire, but he knew maybe a little too well than the others who had known of him only as the Supreme Commander Kane the Second. Optimus allowed those thoughts to run through his mind with a bitter mental laugh: just like how Ulysses himself wore a mask on his face to hide his true nature, he himself too wore a mask to hide what was underneath.

And at this moment, he could not have been more grateful for the mask over his face.

No one would know of the guilt at rushed through him, and that was for the best - for he was, after all, the lieutenant of the Emperor of the Valencian Empire - as each of the memories which now flashed through his processor.

Even with the enhanced processing power of a clockwork thanks to the chip implanted into his head, Optimus had lost track of the days they had spent hiding in Skull Mountain. While indeed it was true that he had been trained in endurance as a buccaneer, the Captain had found himself growing only weaker by the day, his human flesh deteriorating with the lack of nourishment and only barely kept from dragging him down by what he could scrounge from the environment -

Optimus could only mechanically walk along the hallway, like a true clockwork, upon the moment the meeting was dismissed.

He braced a hand against the wall, resting his forehead in his other gauntleted hand.

"God, Quintia I am sorry, I am sorry for this... I should have protected you."

How weak, how _pathetic_ \- some part of the former pirate buccaneer did not want to believe that this was _his_ voice.

The Captain's remaining human eye closed behind his mask; his throat burned and as did his eye, tears threatening to spill.

Vividly, he could remember the searing pain that had shot through his entire frame, as he laid there within a pool of his own blood, incapacitated and unable to do _anything_ to defend himself all while his so called _comrades_ fled the scene. Optimus remembered the fear, the rage which so occupied his mind at that time: he was very much _certain_ he was done for all thanks to the pirate _Adrian Devereaux_.

A growl nearly slipped from his throat at the mere _thought_ of that name.

There was no one Sentus Optimus detested more in the entire Spiral, no one he wanted more to tear apart with his two bare hands, bit by bit and piece by piece so he would know of the pain he had made him suffer on that fateful day which would change his destiny completely -

The marine captain closed the door behind himself, ensuring the lock was on before all strength seemed to drain out of his legs, and he slid to the ground, his back pressed against the wall.

So many things that he could have done, that he could have _changed,_ but he did not. Would it all have been any different, had he stayed behind with the Royal Guard captain to fight off the Templars? Would it have been any different if _he_ was the one who had been captured instead of her?

Sentus Optimus had to force himself to stand back up on trembling legs.

 _But there is nothing you can do now, can you?_

 _So weak -_

There was a part of him that was almost tempted to crawl into the next crack in the earth he found and hide, hide and never come back out: unable to even look into the mirror. Ulysses Septimus had been the one to reach out during his time of need, when he could have left him for dead or simply execute him for what he had done as a pirate.

And he had failed him.

Sentus Optimus braced a hand against the wall for balance when he found enough strength to stand once more. How vividly he remembered the _awkwardness_ of his new limbs when they were first attached, and how sharp the artificial eye was when compared to his remaining human eye. All thanks to Ulysses taking mercy on him -

A sharp knock on the door of his private chambers.

"Who is this?"

Optimus found himself speaking in the same mechanical fashion as the lower ranked clockworks: montone and without emotion within his words.

"Lieutenant Commanders Servius Decimus and Albinus Crassus requesting entrance."

The marine opened the door and stepped back: his right arm automatically snapping into the Armada salute in face of his fellow officers.

"It is good to see you return unharmed, Captain."

It was barely possible for him to pay attention to the words spoken by Servius: his gaze on Albinus, the younger of the two. To an outside observer, the elite sniper appeared nothing unusual, simply standing there straight and silent like any other clockwork soldier of the Armada would. Optimus saw something else.

His pale and slender fingers seemed to curl around his weapon tighter than usual, and then there were the tremors, the way his frame seemed to tremble and had to just ever so slightly lean against his twin for support now they were away from the public eye.

"H-however, I do regret to inform you that the Captain of the Royal Guard Quintia Presidos had perished in the hands of the Templars."

It was as though Servius' words had became daggers, daggers which drove themselves into his frame and _twisted_ hard. Everything fell into place like some sort of dreadful puzzle: all of this would serve to explain the Supreme Commander Ulysses' rage that he had seen just moments ago.

"How...?"

Optimus could only utter this word, before his throat clamped shut. And a million different possibilities had exploded within his brain in the very second of the statement -

 _God, what will become of the Supreme Commander? What will become of the Armada now that what's left of his stability has been so brutally ripped away?_

"The Supreme Commander's condition only worsened with this."

By the end of his sentence, Servius' voice cracked, further confirming the dread within Optimus.

"God... It was all my fault..."

Optimus did not know if he muttered the words out loud or if they were all within his mind. What he _did_ know was his strength had once more failed him and he had all but collapsed against the wall -

"Captain! The Supreme Commander is already falling apart, and now _you_ as well?!"

The marine captain tensed at the sharp snap of the sniper's voice, meeting the voids in the mask - face of Servius Decimus. No one, not even his trainers, not even Adrian Devereaux, had dared to snap out at him, save for Ulysses Septimus during the war between the now vessel world Marleybone and Valencia.

 _But he is right, isn't he?_

Remembering the state the Supreme Commander was in shortly before he left the world of Valencia drove yet _another_ dagger into the lieutenant's chest. He remembered all too vividly how the Supreme Commander's uniform seemed to be looser around his frame, the light within his eyes that was the madness barely held back by what little remained of his sanity.

Silence hung in the air for several seconds before Servius' voice finally spoke again, breaking the rather uncomfortable silence.

"I do apologize for my outburst, Captain, it's just... Seeing our Supreme Commander in this state truly unnerves me."

Toward the end of his sentence, Servius' voice went quiet.

"And he isn't the only one who had felt the pain of her passing."

Sentus Optimus closed his single remaining human eye. How could he not remember that Quintia Presidos was also the sister of the two elite snipers? It only made the boulder of guilt pressing down on his chest larger, _heavier_.

"Have… Her remains been laid to rest?"

This was the least he could do, to pay her the final respects that she deserved, after saving his life from the Templars by offering up her own function in place of his.

Servius' red painted lips thinned into a line, though the sniper managed a weak nod.

Captain Optimus was then suddenly not so sure of his next words, taking quite some effort to force out of his own lips.

" _Where is she now...?_ "

"In the cemetery with the rest of the heroes from the age of the Great War."

Albinus drew in a trembling breath.

"The Supreme Commander would not have it any other way, and he refused to lay his eyes upon her bloodied remains for a second time. I truly cannot blame him... The sight still burns even now in my memory."

 _Was it right to ask them to show me the location of her grave, after all that they've been through?_

In the end, Optimus - although still with a great degree of uncertainty - came to the conclusion with the same reason as before, that it was only right he show at least _some_ sign of respect to the second clockwork who had saved him from a fate more horrible than death itself.

"Lead the way."

As the twin snipers lead the way through the halls of Cadiz once more, the marine realized with some sense of bitterness of just how heavy the atmosphere seemed now that he realized the true fate of the first and only female Royal Guard and Praetorian. A solemn, heavy air which seemed to hang over the heads of the common clockwork soldiers, a darkness which Optimus could only _dare_ to fathom how much it hung over the _Lord of the Valencian Empire_.

Even the civilians had not been spared of sensing this darkness, it seemed when they finally made it out into the streets of the capitol city of the Empire: there was no laughter in the air, no children frolicking in the streets, only a solemn silence.

The twins stopped before a gate of wrought black steel, which swung open on its own accord.

Once more, Sentus Optimus found himself half stumbling, half walking mechanically into the graveyard, toward the newest grave erected: a brilliant mausoleum far too similar to the sepulcher built by Ulysses for the first Supreme Commander Kane himself.

Only vaguely did he notice the twin snipers moving to stand next to him as he stood before the grave, both of them silent in a way not so different from the rest of the clockworks serving the Armada's Lord Kane II.

Optimus' fists clenched together at his side, trembling with every breath he took.

 _Rest in peace, Quintia Presidos_.

* * *

 **Hello everyone! I hope you had a happy holiday and got lots of presents :) now that Xmas has passed, time to return to my original uploading schedule. Poor Optimus, knowing Ulysses the longest and yet this had to happen, and then facing the pain endured by the sniper twins... And this is not the end of the storm either.  
**

 **Until next time :D and reviews are much appreciated, my dear readers!**

 **-Hades**


	33. Chapter 33

Aetius Varius Septimus took care to clean every detail that he could reach on his Schiavona sword to remove the crusted blood from it: the rag stained a thorough crimson red by the time he was finished.

The clockwork assassin discarded the rag, then sheathed the blade back at his side. After all, a weapon was a part of the soldier, especially a soldier under the command of the Supreme Commander Kane the Second.

Fingers interlocked, Aetius' thoughts wandered off when he realized there was now no singular objective for him to focus to within this chamber - his personal quarters - everything seemed so much more noticeable and the silence that much more _deafening_.

He rose in a single slow movement from behind his desk, resting his bare hand upon the top of the fine mahogany surface; his gauntleted hand by his side.

The silence had also allowed him to recall some of the more recent events which had transpired.

Just that much had forced Aetius' lips into a _scowl_.

 _Argentius Septimus_.

This name alone brought along a surge of memories that the Assassin did not, he _did not_ wish to examine. Far too many times already had he seen those images zoom pass his field of vision, those images of Assassin corpses in various states of mutilation laying in pools of their own blood. That, and another name.

"Atticus Mercilus."

His voice came out in a deep, throaty growl which surprised even Varius himself.

Varius' gaze went down to his hands, one bare and the other encased in a gauntlet of metal and leather with stylized metal plates. Those same metal plates were linked together as a full suit of armor which covered his entire torso: a complete and entire replica of the being he had known to be the Supreme Commander and his _father_ and creator.

A replica with all of the capability to feel the entire scale of the human emotional spectrum.

And therefore feel the entire sensation of _hatred_ which came along with the memories given to him by the blood of his _father_ and creator, Ulysses.

He turned his gaze to the only window in his quarters. Outside, green storm clouds churned in the Valencian skyways, some of them partially concealing the many Armada ships patrolling the world ever so vigilantly. Briefly, Varius wondered how many others would understand the extent of his hatred against Mercilus as well as the traitor's creation -

Argentius Septimus was a creation of his creator's greatest enemy, Atticus Mercilus, now made to be the assassin of the Supreme Commander of the Armada. Just how many knew that the current Commodore Septimus was once a Templar, the sworn enemy of the Assassins and of the Armada, Aetius did not know.

What he _did_ know, however, was that Argentius _must_ be disposed of.

His hand clenched around the hilt of his sword at his hip.

Even though Argentius appeared loyal to the Supreme Commander now, Aetius doubted that this would last for much longer.

The Assassin pivoted sharply on his heel, although something within him made him stop before he could open the door and step out into the hallways. It did not feel right, it just did not feel _right_ at this time to do so, and his fingers loosened from around the hilt of his weapon.

His robe rustled softly with each of his steps he paced around the chamber before he finally settled behind his desk.

Pale, dexterous digits undid the straps of the gauntlet around his right arm, sliding it off and laying it down before him; the razor sharp blade inside extending with a simple tap on the hidden mechanism inside, that voice within him whispering a rather _tempting_ suggestion -

He could very well just sneak into the Templar clockwork's quarters and take him out right now and there, _and no one would realize it_. After all, he had disposed of so many Resistance agents in the world of Valencia and no one ever came to the conclusion it was he who was working behind everyone's backs, cutting them down left and right at the command of his creator and the Emperor of the Spiral Ulysses.

All it takes was one stab of this Hidden Blade, bearing its black tribal designs, laying on the desk before him. One well aimed stab of this Hidden Blade into the main bloodpath located at the side of his neck and all would be _over -_

Aetius traced his fingers along the edge of the blade. While this drew a little droplet of blood from his synthetic skin, the assassin felt no pain even as he wiped the blood on the dark fabric of his robes; his skin sealing up immediately while leaving no hint of the minuscule wound save for a minute patch of bronze - colored skin.

How _easy_ it would be to claim a life with this blade, and in the name of his Creator as well - !

Vividly, Aetius could recall the sight of Argentius' amethyst eyes - those pleading eyes that both threatened and adored, with his body just _barely_ supporting himself in a way that Varius could not quite describe -

But what he _could_ describe was how _protective_ he felt over his Commander and his creator, the one being he was made to serve.

It was more than just a little difficult to hold back, Aetius mused as he strapped his gauntlet back onto his right forearm, from what every inch of his inner programming was suggesting him to do - to get rid of this potential _bomb_ which threatened his Commander.

Then and only then, however, did Aetius recall the strange behavior of the Armada Commodore when the Templar Grandmaster was brought in for questioning before the elite court of Valencia.

If the clockwork Assassin was a human with a fully functional face, his eyes would have narrowed in hatred at just remembering how he was: there was no mistaking the recognition in his gaze, the way his eyes widened at the sight of the bound and doomed traitor Assassin. Aetius was almost certain no one else had seen it, but _he_ certainly had - he had _seen_ the way that Argentius had tensed up and turned away when the Templar's gaze turned towards his.

As paranoid as his thoughts seemed, Aetius knew he could not take any chances of letting the Templar - made clockwork get too close to the Supreme Commander.

His reflection within the blade of his weapon seemed to only confirm this further - he would act, yes - but not until the _opportune moment._

* * *

 **Reviews are much appreciated :D until next time!  
**

 **-Hades**


	34. Chapter 34

It had been merely a few hours after the incident within the dungeons, and already it felt as though an eternity had passed.

Ulysses Septimus shifted in the golden throne that belonged to him at the head of the table in the war council chamber, his mask sitting on the table no less than a few inches away from his right hand. All of the other elites had left the chamber minutes before, leaving the Emperor of the Spiral sitting in his throne in this almost _suffocating_ silence.

Being left with his own mind meant being left with the memories.

But perhaps this was one time where the Supreme Commander did not mind drowning in those memories. _Anything_ to distract himself from remembering that _he_ was the one responsible for his daughter's death on that Templar infested island.

Ulysses traced his slender fingertips across the wooden surface of the table, which usually would have had some kind of map placed upon it. But for _now_ , it was empty.

As empty as the chair to his direct right, the one where the Grand Admiral would have sat.

Usually, this chair would have been occupied by the clockwork Assassin Aetius Varius Septimus, the current Grand Admiral of the Valencian Armada.

Scarlet eyes closed, a breath of air escaping from Ulysses' pale lips. Never had he felt so old before, so tired and _exhausted_ since he had taken the throne of Valencia from the dying first Supreme Commander of the Armada. And only seven years had passed since he stormed out of the gates of the Monquistan Assassin headquarters, teary eyed and rage pounding through every inch of him, swearing to dip his blade in the blood of the nine who were responsible for the bloodbath at Monteriggioni.

"Supreme Commander."

It had taken Ulysses a few seconds to locate the speaker of these words.

"Deacon."

The Royal Spymaster stepped from the shadows in his usual quiet manner. His cloak swirled around his form, rippling in the very slight breeze which always seemed to run through Cadiz from at least one of the open windows: and as per expected of an officer, all folds of his garments were neatly arranged and placed, not one crease anywhere to be seen.

"Supreme Commander, if I may be permitted to remark..."

Deacon's walking stick tapped lightly against the metallic flooring with each step he took, and he halted no more than three feet away from Ulysses' throne.

"There is quite a difference between you and the young baron that I had first offered the commission letter to."

Deacon settled into his respective chair with a slight creak, and Ulysses could _feel_ his gaze. He could _not_ bring himself to look into the gaze of the spymaster, not with how it almost felt as though the clockwork's eyes were piercing right _through_ him.

"It was only four years, wasn't it? Four years since I had taken up the pen and signed the letter from... _Supreme Commander Kane_."

Ulysses hated it, he _absolutely_ hated it, how _weak_ his voice sounded at the mere mention of the name of his savior and his _angel_ in this dark and cruel Spiral. No one had understood his pain more than Kane himself did, not even some of the other elites, if one had to be frank.

"More like three years bordering on four, Commander."

Silence.

"And already I have fallen so far."

The twenty eight year old human man laughed softly, bitterly as memories buried deeper began to resurface into his mind's eye, memories of himself wearing the white robe so often associated with the noble soaring eagle _Altaïr_ , memories of the times he had spent with his brother walking in the streets of Valencia and laughing.

Only _seven_ years since all of this had transpired.

"I assure you, Commander, you have not failed as much as you thought."

it was a simple statement.

"You have led the Armada onward to glory, you have built an Empire upon the basis which the Lord Kane himself had begun. Perhaps, Your Majesty, you have not failed the Armada nor the former Supreme Commander."

 _Despite all of my failures? Of the times when I was so weak and pathetic until the Supreme Commander came down and saved me from myself?_

"Although it is certainly true that you are not of the optimal condition in terms of your mental stability, Commander."

Ulysses _visibly_ flinched at this. He had already done so much to hide the fact he was merely a crumbling shell, and Deacon had seen through all of it as though his disguise was only paper - thin.

"Are not my enemies to blame?"

Those words flew from his mouth in a bitter tone which betrayed the hatred churning underneath the surface of his own usually composed appearance. It was impossible to not, even at this point in time, imagine how his life would have been like had those two not stepped in.

"Atticus Mercilus had robbed me of my family, my commander and King by the means of his little puppet Adrian…he killed my brother before the gates of Monteriggioni and hundreds of other innocent Assassins taken in a single assault from the Templar forces... A bloodshed that I could have stopped if I had taken action a second _faster_."

Tears stung his vision, threatening to spill at the memories released from the floodgates of their mental prison.

 _So weak and pathetic, it is no wonder that so many have tried to dethrone me. Just one little memory can do so much damage_.

"Supreme Commander, it would be optimal if you attempt to focus upon the fact that both of your enemies are now confined within the dungeons of Cadiz, awaiting their inevitable end tomorrow at high noon."

When scarlet eyes opened once more, Ulysses turned his gaze toward the spymaster. Deacon's words held true in a way that felt as though it pierced through the shroud of darkness which had enveloped him, even if it was for merely a few seconds before this shround would take him once more into its grasp.

"Your words do hold true, Royal Spymaster, but alas, I am a _human_ \- "Ulysses spat out the word. It was only because he was a being of flesh and not steel cogs and intricate wires and synthetic flesh that he failed his lord so in the past. "-Unlike clockworks, immortal, perfection, so much more so than this _shell_."

 _And there I go again…more of these rants, more of these words which I must have uttered countless times. I am quite surprised none of them have grown tired of hearing these very same tirades each day and night_.

"You may be a being of flesh, Commander, but the Lord Kane would not have chosen you beyond the reason he believes you to have what it takes to lead the Armada onward and to glory."

Ulysses had to bite back the next words pushing at his lips.

"I advise you to put those thoughts at the back of your mind, as how humans would put it - "

The sound of alarms was sudden and _deafening_ , ringing through the halls of Cadiz as the footsteps of countless Royal Guards could be heard running -

Which only could mean the _prisoners had somehow escaped_.

Out of what was likely pure instinct, Ulysses' hand darted out, snatching up the mask and placing it over his face again. The folds of his coat billowed around him with each wide stride out of the chamber, and into the halls where numerous clockworks rushed toward the location of the prisoners.

 _No, no, no, NO_ , he waited _so_ long for a day to claim his vengeance, and he would not have this happening at this time of all!

"Royal Guards, surround and incapacitate the prisoners. Do not kill unless forced to."

His gloved hand lowered to the sword at his side shortly after, pale fingers wrapping around the hilt of the Sword of Altaïr. The blade had not faced battle since he had became the Emperor of the Valencian Empire, but it was not in _any_ way dull. And Ulysses could sense the long sleeping _thing_ inside of him stir again, the sensation of bloodlust deep within the pits of his stomach which he had not felt for _so long_.

He would not permit them to dance through his fingers, not this time.

* * *

 **And now this is when things will start to get much, much bloodier (evil grins) and that much more interesting.  
**

 **Until next time :D and reviews are much appreciated!**

 **-Hades**


	35. Chapter 35

Aetius Septimus was the first one on the scene when the alarms blared through the halls of Cadiz, sword in hand. He _expected_ this to happen, although what he did _not_ expect was how well Atticus Mercilus held up agains the onslaught of clockworks rushing toward him.

Adrian Devereaux was not faring as well, however, judging by how he had been gradually forced into a defensive position as the Armada marines closed in.

 _Two men against the entire force of Royal Guards and patrols within Cadiz. Interesting, but short lived_.

Clockwork soldiers stepped out of his way, making room for the assassin to take a single swipe at the Templar Grandmaster -

Metal screeched against metal, sparks flying between them. Void eyes met those of amethyst and opal, and Varius would have narrowed his eyes if he was a human, the same kind of hatred that he had felt _before_ , that searing burn coursing through him igniting all sorts of _images_ of what he would _do to him_.

"Argentius Septimus."

The amethyst - eyed clockwork's lower lip trembled; his weapon arm faltering for a single brief second, although it was enough for Varius. Sparks flew from between their interlocked blades, steel clashing back and forth decorated with occasional drops of crimson red with each deft slash of the Hidden Blade: once on his chest, just barely ripping through the outermost layer of skin, another on his upper arm.

Only a few times did Argentius land a blow upon Aetius Varius. Dull clangs would be added to the battle din surrounding them whenever his blade met the metal pieces of armor worn by the clockwork Assassin.

Deftly bringing up an arm and blocking the other's blade with his left bracer, Varius slammed the hilt end of his sword into the _traitor's_ face. Cracks immediately spiraled out of the broken porcelain - skin:

 _Now_ -!

One swift kick to the torso was all that it took to knock Argentius down onto the ground, his blade skittering out of reach -

The Assassin brought up one boot and planted it on the other clockwork's chest, his lips curving into a smile before he even realized it. How he _enjoyed_ the way Argentius clawed feebly for his freedom!

"You aided in the escape of the prisoners, did you not?"

Varius' left hand twitched, gears turning within the gauntlet and forcing the Hidden Blade out of it. Another twitch sent the pivot gear turning and spinning the blade's concealed hilt right into his open left palm: one strike and it would end all of this -

Before _burning_ pain wracked his system, from the location where his Achilles' tendon would have been located; warnings blaring within his processor and drawing a _unearthly_ sound from the clockwork Assassin's lips, a sound that could only be described as a bellow of pure _pain_.

The hilt of a standard issue Armada dagger protruded from his heel, Argentius' fingers wrapped around it. Pain even more piercing than before nearly was enough to draw out yet _another_ scream from Aetius' lips when the blade was suddenly and _violently_ torn out, only to be plunged into the chink in his armor directly under his ribcage.

Argentius delivered a blow to Aetius' torso, knocking the Assassin off balance, his back meeting the ground and sending a dull jolt up his spinal strut.

Aetius wrenched the knife out of where it had been lodged, flinging the bloodied weapon aside.

 _How foolish. I should have ended him right there and then_.

It took a tremendous amount of effort for Aetius to get back on his feet, and he could feel the wound in his side widen with even the slightest movement, blood trickling from between his slender fingers and staining his once flawless armor -

Argentius gathered himself once more, fighting to defend his _creator_ from the Praetorians closing in around them. A valiant effort, but a futile one as well - the chances were stacking up against them both, for when one clockwork fell under their blades, five others would take their fallen comrade's place.

Aetius' lips turned up into what a human would call a _smirk_ , despite the continuous drip of blood from the wound in his side, which made it impossible to stand without leaning his back against the wall.

All was _certain_ , all was _sure_ -

Atticus then threw out his hand, the burst of light generated by the ring he wore enough to blind Aeitus for several seconds and to force the other clockwork soldiers to bring up their arms to shield themselves from the burning light.

Flashes of light lingered even after it had stopped, but Aetius did not need those to clear before he _knew_ what was transpiring -

Argentius and the Templars fled down the halls, past the confused and dazed lower ranked clockworks and towards the docking area of the fortress. Few words could do justice to describe the _horror_ (judging by the way his heartrate had suddenly picked up to a dangerous speed and how his entire processor seemed to _halt)_ and the _anger_ piercing through the clockwork Assassin's entire system: for seven years, Ulysses had longed for justice against this serpent traitor of the Assassin Order, only for it to fall apart at the hands of _another_ traitor of the ranks?!

"Aetius! What happened?!"

The look of shock, of _fear_ and concern upon the Supreme Commander's face was evident.

"Argentius…that traitor helped the serpents escape…"

Aetius had to shake his head to focus, and he found it impossible to even lift his schiavona blade.

"They are heading for the map chamber, stop them first!"

Ulysses' gaze darted down to his bloodied hand, the gauntlet stained thoroughly by the crimson fluid dripping out of the wound ripped into his flesh: an alarming amount of blood that sent warning signs flashing before his gaze.

"Go!"

His legs gave out the moment Ulysses spun and sprinted down the hall leading towards the chamber. Aetius could only lay on his side, drawing in labored breaths which grew more painful with each passing second. All of a sudden, his armor seemed to feel ten times _heavier_ than it supposed to be, bearing down upon and crushing his ribcage.

 _Am I to be terminated here?_

A pair of pale hands closed around his shoulders, hauling him back up until he could lean his back against the wall once more.

"Servius...?"

Varius found his voice _pathetically_ shaken. Standing was next to impossible even with the sniper supporting him, winding one of his arms around his shoulders.

The din in the hallway had died down at this point, footsteps able to be heard in the distance as the Royal Guards storming down the hallway toward the direction of the two Templars. It was _suffocating_ , almost, each sound magnified beyond what it was supposed to be - even his own breathing seemed too loud for him to bear.

Servius said nothing, his steps only increasing in speed.

 _It is all falling apart._

* * *

 **Some more Aetius Varius' POV for everyone. As well as some more pretty snipers for all who are as obsessed with them (or even clockworks in general XD). How successful is this prison break, we shall see next chapter: and rest assured, this won't be the last time Aetius Varius or even Argentius is in the picture... They shall both continue to play part in this.**

 **Read and review :D until next time!**

 **-Hades**


	36. Chapter 36

He was _not_ about to let what he had spent seven years chasing slip through his fingers, _no_!

Ulysses could hear the _voices_ , the voices of his apprentices, of his recruits and of _everyone_ the Templar Grand Master had taken from him: those voices whispered into his mind and dug into his flesh like a thousand blades.

 _Avenge us_.

 _Blood for blood_.

Stabbing pain ripped through him, and his lungs burned with each frantic breath drawn in from the efforts of his run. Yet it had felt so _exhilarating_ , the adrenaline pumping through his body with each beat of his heart only serving to drive him _on_.

 _Avenge us_.

He should have been out of breath, and yet, he was _not,_ when he stormed into the chamber.

"Atticus Mercilus."

The Assassin turncoat was alone, but for this moment Ulysses could care _less_ of where the God - damned swashbuckler was. This was the man who had murdered his _brother_ :

 _The orchestrator_.

Atticus slowly pivoted around to face Ulysses, and with this single movement, Ulysses knew what would happen - it was clear, and it drew a grin which only widened with each second underneath the elaborate mask he wore.

 _So this is the end of it, huh? A duel of the fates, to the death_.

"Finally realized that running is no use, traitor?"

The Templar tossed his head back, letting out a laugh. It shook his entire frame, his hands spreading out by his sides but never releasing the blade as black eyes met crimson ones.

"Let us resolve this once and for all, _Grandmaster_."

Atticus spat out the words, shifting into his battle stance.

 _And I fully intend to, traitor, for I thirst to see that you suffer for what you have done to the Order, to Valencia, and to ME so long ago..!_

" _I will END you!"_

The roar emanating from his throat was _animalistic_ , somewhere between a angered shriek and a scream of agony when Ulysses lunged at the Templar, arm drawn back to deal a blow that would have cleaved a regular man's head in two. Atticus in turn blocked with an expertise which only made the _monster_ within Ulysses cackle even more.

Blades interlocked, Ulysses' gaze locked upon his through the mask.

"How many nights have you spent dreaming about killing me, Octavian Superbus?"

Atticus' fist slammed into his solar plexus, knocking all air from his lungs.

Ulysses barely had time to recover before he was forced to twist his body to the side - Atticus had thrust his own weapon out and aimed for his torso, a blow which surely would have killed him if it was successful - the blade just _barely_ slicing through his uniform and the topmost layer of skin.

"How many nights have you spent awake, fantasizing about how you would tear into my flesh and remind me of the pain which I had caused you?"

"Countless!"

The Templar's laugh at his response echoed through the chamber, long and loud and maniacal. He _enjoyed_ watching this, Ulysses knew, he enjoyed watching Ulysses remember and _suffer_.

"Good, good, just as I had expected!"

Pain shot down the Supreme Commander's arm when he reacted a single second too late, allowing the former Assassin to tear a vertical gash through his left uniform sleeve. The drops of blood flying out of the wound decorated the walls like shattered jewels, little droplets each carving a path of its own down the smooth metal -

His mind blocked it out.

"As you should...! Remember the hundreds who laid their lives in your hands, only for you to _end_ them! You've betrayed them all!"

"Ah, I do not think so - it was _you_ who truly caused their deaths, Octavian, did you not ever realize that?"

The Templar Grand Master's swipe passed over his head when Ulysses bent his knees and dropped to the ground, rolling to the side and leaping back up, although not without sensing a jolt deep within himself. Atticus' words had struck true: if it had not been for his _failure to act,_ those lives would not have been lost.

It took the force of Atticus' boot slamming into his chest to yank him out of his own mind, his swordpoint merely inches from his chest until he landed a square kick to Atticus' side, throwing him off balance before thrusting his blade forward until they locked at the handguards.

"Who do you fight for, Octavian?"

A gash torn into the lower half of Mercilus' torso wept out brilliant drops of crimson red, staining his tattered Templar robes.

"Is it for your dead _king_ , or for your wife, or for your brother?"

And there they stood, pure _hatred_ emanating from the both of them as they panted like beasts who had ran miles without stopping, lungs screaming for air and exhaustion threatening to overcome them both.

 _Is this exihilaration, or is this rage?_

"At least I stand for _something_ , _bastardo_ , at least I remain _loyal_ …!"

Those voices within his mind may have persisted, but they were not the wretched voices which had so haunted his dreams and his nights with their accursed whispers of his failure. They were the voices of all whom he had _lost_ in the past, voices that Ulysses had nearly forgotten the sound of until now.

They drove away the fog surrounding his mind, stringing together the pieces and filling in the gaps within his psyche.

Now, he was able to think, to _act_ more clearly and definitely than ever before.

Once more they charged at each other like lions, blades extended like claws ready to rip out the throat of the other through any means.

"Perhaps you can claim your are more loyal than me, Octavian, but can you _truly_ say that your actions were sanctioned under _justice?"_

Justice, this word had driven him on -

Blood stained the black fabric of Ulysses' uniform coat maroon, following the wet slide of blade being plunged into his foe's flesh. At last the Templar Grand Master let loose an anguished bellow of pain, the smug smirk wiped from his face and replaced by an expression of pure and absolute _hatred_ once Ulysses had yanked his sword back out.

This longing for _justice_ had been his primary motivation since the beginning -

"Those were criminals I eradicated, threats to the Spiral - !"

The words slipped from his lips, growled so ferociously that Ulysses could not even recognize his own voice.

"Criminals?"

Atticus' blade left a bleeding gash under the left side of his ribcage, blood seeping from the wound: a gash which should have _burned_ with pain considering how deep it was.

"There were _innocents_ on that island, _Supreme Commander_."

As much as Ulysses would deny it, some part of him _acknowledged_ the words of the former Assassin. Perhaps he had rid the Spiral of the pirate threat, but it was at the price of completely annihilating an island full of people, enough so that their bones would litter the entirety of the world forever while their blood stained the inland lakes and the sands of the beaches red.

"Do you chastise _me_ for compromising the brotherhood when you have clearly broken all three tenets of the creed? You are no better than I, Ulysses Caesarion Septimus."

Only then did Ulysses find an edge.

Blades interlocked once more, _showers_ of golden sparks flying off of them after one finishing effort, sending the Templar's sword skittering across the floor of the map chamber and out of his reach, and the Supreme Commander slammed him into a nearby wall with brute strength Ulysses only vaguely noticed.

Their faces were mere inches apart, Ulysses having pinned the Templar against the wall with his blade placed to his throat, his other hand clenching the collars of his robes. Atticus let out a choked laugh, bordering on _maniacal_ while a thin streak of blood trickled down from the side of his mouth, rolling through his disheveled beard.

"How much innocent blood was spilt that night, oh _Grandmaster_? How many heads rolled simply because they did not see your "light" and "truth," hmm? You needn't even answer, for I am quite certain you never bothered to reexamine how many atrocities you have committed, all in _his_ name."

 _Kane_.

The first Supreme Commander of the Armada, whom Ulysses lurked in the shadow of, and his puppetmaster, even after termination.

"How do you _know_ of this?"

Ulysses did not lower his blade from the Templar's throat.

"You are but a _child_ , Octavian, a child who will lead the Spiral and your precious little puppet soldiers into doom because you cannot accept that your favorite _toy_ is broken and _gone_. Your God is dead, and you refuse to see it."

Atticus laughed again, quickly dissolving into hacking coughs as more blood poured out of his mouth.

The Supreme Commander of the Armada could not prevent his growl of frustration from escaping, or from _throwing_ his entire frame to the side, sending the Templar sprawling across the floor of the chamber.

"Go on, is not this what you desired? What you've been _dreaming_ about? Come on, Octavian, bring your fantasies to _life!_ "

By now the voices had faded away into nothingness, leaving Ulysses alone with the monster that resided within him, this monster which stomped and snarled within the expanses of his mind, hissing out demands for the blood of this traitor who had already cost him so much. But he could _not_ give.

Ulysses _forced_ himself to halt two feet away from the battered form of the Templar Grand Master.

His right arm brought up the Sword of Altaïr, rising it high in the air in preparation for a killing stroke. It would only take that much to claim the life of the man that had murdered everyone he had ever valued, to see his blood spilled across the floor like a slaughtered pig along with his gutted entrails.

Killing was that easy, and it was that easy to _enjoy_ it as well.

 _However_ , it would _not_ provide lasting enjoyment. A burst of sadistic amusement, yes, but nothing more - the satisfaction would only come and go within the blink of an eye.

 _Not now._

The Sword made no sound when it was sheathed once more at his hip.

Atticus' grin straightened, his gaze following the now concealed weapon to the still masked face of the Supreme Commander. He was _surprised_ , surprised at what others would call a sudden show of _mercy_. Now if only they could see the grin spreading his lips beneath the protection of the mask he wore.

It stretched from ear to ear, threatening to make Ulysses sway rather dangerously until his mind became distracted by his own words.

"No, I won't kill you here, traitor, I will make you _suffer_ for the pain that you have wrought upon me, I will make you _feel_ the pain you have brought upon the hundreds and thousands of innocent souls with your venom."

Footsteps behind the Supreme Commander announced the arrival of the Royal Guards, and the soft rustling of cloak fabirc the presence of their looming leader Octavius Caesarus, followed by his own second in command Sentus Optimus, whose gaze turned from the Templar to the Lord of the Valencian Empire.

"Put that traitor back into the dungeons, _I will personally take care of this one_."

The Templar could not even make a single sound as Sentus Optimus took him away, escorted by the Praetorian guards.

"Your condition, Supreme Commander, is less than optimal."

Ulysses' gaze fell to his own form. Multiple gashes riddled his flesh, seven in his forearms, at least ten in his torso, and three near his legs. With the adrenaline fading out of his systems, the Supreme Commander could at last feel the dull pain from the bruises forming where Atticus had struck him with his fist.

"I am fine, Captain Caesarus - "

And then it hit him.

" _Where is the pirate and Argentius Septimus...?!_ "

Octavius did not even _flinch_ at his sudden outburst.

"I regret to inform you that they somehow _escaped_ , Supreme Commander."

Behind his mask, his lips parted to let out a _howl_ of frustration. But it did not come out, no sound was produced by his throat as though someone had severed his vocal cords leaving it only to echo _endlessly_ within his mind.

 _Gone, gone, my beautiful puppet and the hand that plunged the blade into Kane's heart-!_

"Impossible...!"

His voice came out a airy monotone through the vocalizer.

Ulysses felt his heart drop, drop until it shattered once more into a thousand little pieces. Was he to lose his precious puppet, his _beautiful_ puppet to this very same bastard who had brutally slain his master before his eyes while he was locked in combat?

"Search the entirety of Cadiz, of Valencia... I want them _found_ , and I want the Commodore to be brought back to me, _functioning_."

Octavius nodded in acknowledgement with a click before leaving the scene.

 _Now to deal with Atticus himself_.

As _eager_ as he was to head towards the dungeons, Ulysses closed the double steel doors leading into the map room behind him carefully, until he could hear it hiss shut and seal back up like it was supposed to be. Something deep within him shivered in delight at this, it was all too clear why: it was a reason to _strip Argentius of his position,_ once he was returned. No one would know how to undo such a lock upon the chamber, save for a clockwork of the Armada who would be entrusted with this secret.

A secret upon the penalty of _death_ , should it ever be allowed to be given to someone beyond the ranks of the Armada, particularly the _enemy_.

 _And speak of the devil._

Ulysses' boots thudded against each step as he descended into the dungeons. It was empty, so empty it was quite possible to hear the sound of the machinery maintaining the dungeon's security mechanisms away in some faraway corner.

Ever since the _termination_ of the first Supreme Commander, the security of the prisons had been boosted with new technology, Sokolovian technology to be more precise, and doubly so in the area used to keep the prisoners of highest importance.

Passing the first few of the cells, their bars humming with the low voltage electricity channeling through it, Ulysses passed his left hand over the sensor lock, and the door swung open without any trouble (as to ensure no one aside from an authorized personnel would have access); plucking the flawless mask from his face.

Atticus had been bandaged up, he noted, from how he could see lines of stained red gauze through the crimson stained Templar robes the other man wore. A temporary barrier, one which would only prolong his life until the time comes for his execution.

The Supreme Commander of the Armada brought up a single hand, pressing the outline of his communicator clipped to his uniform collar.

"The prisoner is to be executed tomorrow at sunrise."

"Command acknowledged, Supreme Commander."

Octavius was the one to cut the connection between them, leaving a silence to hang between them, the only sound in the surrounding being the hum of the bars being put temporarily in low voltage mode while the Supreme Commander loomed before the chained figure of Atticus Mercilus.

"Seven years ago, you were the one standing where I am now."

Ulysses found himself sneering at the sight of his enemy, pathetically _broken_ by his two hands and bleeding, chained to the wall by his wrists just like he had been at twenty one years of age. That night had been absolute _hell_ for the master Assassin at the time, and he remembered _each_ lash upon his bare back, the warm sensation of his own blood tricking down his flesh out of the many gashes.

"And seven years ago, you promised that if you were to ever survive this, you would make me _pay_ for my crimes."

"A promise that I _fully_ intend to carry out."

It had not come out as _threatening_ as he wished, that much he noticed: all of his attention shifting to the ring the Templar wore upon his left ring finger, pulsating in a way all too similar.

Puzzle pieces fell into place with his realization.

"And I see you are in possession of something that is rightfully _mine_."

Atticus had held this ring of Eden this entire time, which explained how he could escape. His puppet was _not_ at fault, he was almost certain of this, it was this hell damned Templar and the influence given to him by the artifact of the First Civilization. Ulysses was determined to make it _his_. After all, had the Apple not called him the "Keeper of Eden"?

He slipped the ring onto his own finger, a shuddering sigh whistling from his lips. This was no different from all those times that he had laid his hand upon the artifact: the same sensation of _power_ coursing through his veins, as though a fire had been ignited deep within him -

Ulysses stepped back in surprise when the ring hummed in his hand, creating an image, or more exactly, a fragment of an image before him.

" _La città d'oro di El Dorado_."

He laughed.

He laughed and laughed, the force of it shaking his entire frame, tremors running through him. _The final map piece in his hand_..! The Golden City would belong to the Armada, and at last, they, _he_ would finish what Kane had commanded him to.

"I must thank you, _Atticus_."

The remnants of his bout of maniacal laughter had left a seemingly permanent grin upon his pale lips, stretching his features to a point of near discomfort. However, Ulysses could not care less at this point.

"You've brought me this final piece of the El Dorado map…you've placed the Golden City on a silver platter and offered it to me."

His sight swam before him, and he wobbled dangerously on his feet.

One slender fingered hand shot out, resting on the table to his direct right. He could _not_ breathe, gasps escaping his lips at an alarming rate.

"Although I do wonder how long you will live to enjoy your victory."

 _Yes, this is but a hollow shell, a shell that will most definitely collapse on itself if you don't do something about it right this second, Ulysses_.

Despite how his brain _screamed_ at him to get away, for him to patch up those dangerously bleeding wounds before dealing with his archnemesis, Ulysses _ignored_ it. He had him in his hands, and Atticus had nearly escaped once again, he would have to be _a fool_ to let this chance go to waste.

Snatching a dagger from the table, the Lord of the Valencian Empire then _flung_ himself onto the Templar: deaf to the sounds coming from his own lips with each slash, only knowing he was determined to get to _one thousand_ cuts.

Only for his human _shell_ to give up on him at sixty - seven.

* * *

 **Ever since I started writing Valencian Legend, I had wanted to write this scene of final battle between Ulysses and Atticus, to be all honest... And now, things shall get even _more_ interesting (evil grins.)  
**

 **Read and review :D until next time!**

 **-Hades**


	37. Chapter 37

Every muscle within him ached, pain shooting up his back when Ulysses tried to sit up in his bed -

Wait, _his bed?_ The Supreme Commander recalled that he had been down in the dungeons, he had been _discussing_ with his old _friend_ the Grand Master of the Templar Order and had issued the commands for his execution and -

Ulysses dropped his eyes down to his arm, where it laid by his side.

The Ring of Eden was still securely on his finger, where he had left it. Ulysses trailed his fingers down the outline of the ring, over the silvery band of the unknown metal and the shard of glass - like alloy serving as the centerpiece.

He was thankful he was laying down at this moment. Had he been standing up, he would have likely fallen over _again_ rather ungracefully. The Supreme Commander rolled onto his back and winced involuntarily. The pain only _doubled_ when the adrenaline faded out of his system.

"Have you recovered, Supreme Commander?"

Albinus Crassus' voice came from somewhere near the doorway of his personal chambers. There was no mistaking that, even without sitting up. Ulysses held a hand over his own two eyes as he let out a wheezing sigh. Now that the adrenaline rush from the duel had faded away, so did the _relief_ and the _amusement_ from putting his arch-nemesis through _pain_ for all that he had done to him in the past.

"How long was I out...?"

Ulysses chose to ignore the pause in Albinus' voice.

"About three hours, Supreme Commander, Admiral Valenus carried you back here."

"And the Commodore Argentius Septimus?"

"Captain Caesarus had reported that they are still combing each and every inch of Valencia for both him and the swashbuckler Adrain Vries Devereaux."

The hesitation was clear in his voice, despite his quite obvious efforts to control it. And part of Ulysses could not understand _why_ his creation would fear him so - was this _fear_ he could hear in his voice..? It made no _sense,_ Ulysses had done nothing but -

 _Stop, just stop already, must all of this insist on tormenting me so?! STOP IT, JUST STOP ALL OF THIS...!_

No sound came from his lips when he buried his face within his thin hands, one flesh and one composed of steel and wires and gears, although his own screams echoed through every inch of his own being, every bit as deafening.

Yes, screams reverberated through the entirety of the darkened cell, rivers of blood spilling from the once flawless flesh, now riddled with countless wounds. Each one of the wounds spilled a steady stream of the crimson red. It was impossible to pinpoint who it was, for its appearance would change every few seconds. Sometimes it was his brother, other times it was his dead master, or it would take the shape of his poor daughter...

Several seconds had to pass by until Ulysses could muster what was left of his own dignity and strength after witnessing those _horrendous_ sights yet another time, swinging his legs off the side of his bed until he could stand once more. Or at least _attempted_ to do so, only to be hit with a dangerously strong wave of vertigo that had sent him swaying rather precariously until his sense of direction and balance finally returned.

He had not noticed the bands of white bandage wrapped around his torso until this point.

Ulysses shook his head once, his other hand reaching out and finally grasping the fabric of his waistcoat which had been removed and set on a chair by the side of his bed: fishing out the golden pocketwatch from its pocket.

"It's already three in the morning?"

This meant more to himself than to Albinus - the sniper had not spoken since the Supreme Commander had stepped out of his bed, staggering while he fumbled to dress himself in the uniform of the Supreme Commander: fingers slipping on the golden buttons lining his coat.

By this time the sun was rising, its rays peering through the thick green clouds often lining the sky of Valencia.

Through the HUD of his mask visors, Ulysses' crimson eyes took in every bit of sun bathed features of Valencia. He could not feel any of its warmth, and he _doubted_ he would any time soon: infernal cold coursing through his being, biting deeper than even the cold winds of Polaris, for it was not a cold anything could ever hope to warm.

It came out of his _heart_ , the very core of his being -

"The execution of the Templar master is due to be carried out within half an hour's time, Supreme Commander."

Albinus' pale fingers were still around the rifle in his hands even when the Supreme Commander's masked gaze locked into his. There was no visible emotion within those voids of eyes, at least, not to those who did not observe as closely as Ulysses himself did. Ulysses saw it all, he saw it all, and he _felt_ it all.

He did not need to have given the clockwork sniper a fully functional face to know what he was thinking. So dreadfully confused he was, Ulysses knew, about all that was happening around him, so much had happened within only a short span of time. Once more, Septimus found himself wondering if him giving the power to perceive and sense emotions was a _curse_ of some sort.

"Accompany me and lead me there."

Each one of the clockwork patrols they passed by bowed their heads in response to the presence of the Supreme Commander: a customary gesture . While most of it had been viewed through his peripherial vision, Ulysses found himself clinging on to this little bit of warmth it brought into his heart (much to his own surprise).

 _At least they still stand with me_.

Perhaps there were a few opposers to his rule as the Supreme Commander and Lord Emperor of the Spiral, but it was a relief to know that he at least could place his trust in the soldiers under his command: trusting no other more than his clockwork brethren as well as the Assassins of the Sixteenth Cavalry Regiment -

Ulysses recalled countless times when he walked through the streets of Valencia like this, head held high and his stance proud during the missions he had carried out in the name of the Supreme Commander Kane. There was no one in Valencia that did not know the name of the elite _Knight_ , this figure in black and gold all too similar to the (previous) Supreme Commander himself.

And they too had bowed down to him, in the same way they did now to his figure in his black with golden brocade royal garments while he walked his way to the Piazza della Signoria: the very center of the grand capital city of Cadiz.

Figures of jet black and red clad Royal Guards formed a next to impenetrable square around the area, with the _Capo Comandante_ Octavius most prominent of them all in his gold trimmed black cloak billowing in the breeze of the early Valencian morning: halberd in one gauntleted hand, shield in his other.

While he did anticipate what was to come next, it would have been a lie on the Emperor's own part to say this did not send his heart wrenching once more in pain. The twenty - nine year old man could vividly remember the gruesome sight which had completely broken him from the inside.

The sight of the mangled frame of his poor, _innocent_ daughter Quintia Presidos.

It would be _useless_ , he reminded himself, to hold on to that at this time. It would be almost _ungrateful_ of him to not enjoy what was about to transpire next, the death of the foe that he had hunted for seven years.

 _Watch his end, watch his end and remember you have claimed your due vengeance for this pain he has wrought upon you_.

A throne had been set up for him near the southwestern corner to the execution area, in which Ulysses had claimed his seat, the folds of his royal garments falling in near perfect folds around his (he noticed with a fleeting sense of alarm) seemingly thinner than normal form.

Some internal part of him mused how this was all about to _end_ right this moment, with Servius and Albinus flanking his throne when the Praetorian soldiers escorted the prisoner in, forced to carry the instrument of his own death upon his back, and yet somehow, _miraculously_ , the Templar Grand Master held on to what almost resembled a sense of quiet dignity. There was _no_ fear in those eyes, even through the crusted layer of blood coating his face, or even when the Assassin behind him cracked a whip upon his flesh to force him on.

In fact, Ulysses could have sworn that he saw a hint of a _smirk_ on the Templar's face, his blood - caked features only making it even more eerie than it already was.

Another crack, another splatter of blood. Clockworks would _never_ do this to their prisoners, even when one deserved the fate that was coming to them like Mercilus did - for at this point, it would be considered unnecessary. Assassins were a entirely different manner, Ulysses knew, and only _reasonably_ so.

He would not correct them, no, this was the least he could give to his brothers and sisters in arms - to let them each take a lash against this figure they had once called _brother_ \- for the secrets and the lives lost.

"Atticus Mercilus, do you recognize your crimes against the crown of Valencia, as well as the Valencian Armada and the Order of the Assassins? Murder, treason, arousing rebellion and sedition, and attempting to assassinate multiple officers of the Grand Armada."

Octavius' tenor voice echoed through the area, commanding attention of all present without effort. No heads were unturned to his figure while the Praetorian _Capo Comandante_ listed off his crimes against Valencia's, or more precisely, the _Spiral_ 's only two officially recognized military forces.

When Atticus' retort to those words came, the Emperor, however, found himself _uncertain_ of whether if the man was _mad_ or if the traitor's words actually held some truth to them.

"As how you _clockworks_ would say - I did what was necessary, for the good of others. I have no regrets over what I have accomplished in my lifetime."

"Let those be the _final_ words you ever utter, Templar, for your reign of terror comes to an end today."

Four Assassins - each dressed in black, executioner's robes - took it from there. Clockworks, after all, were not capable of _enjoying_ the spilling of their enemies' blood, and the Assassins were more than willing to take it from here when it came to dealing with Templar foes.

Proven as one Assassin pinned down the Templar, while the other three went to work with the hammers and nails they had brought in.

Words would not have done justice to the sound generated as each nail was driven through the delicate joints of Atticus' wrists and his ankles (the man only allowed a threadbare, tattered robe as his death raiment). Each pound of their hammers drew a small jet of blood, dousing and turning the black fabric maroon.

Now, normally, Ulysses' mind would have acknowledged _all_ sound in this type of situation, be it those hell - damned whispers or the murmurs from the crowd. But in this second, Ulysses Caesarion Septimus could only _bathe_ in every twitch, every suppressed sound his arch-nemesis would make with each pound of the hammers, then the sound of _ripping flesh_ once the wooden cross was stood upright.

 _So this is his end_.

Scarlet eyes, through the visors of his mask, met the dark ones of Atticus Mercilus. Through the protection of his mask, Ulysses felt his lips curve up until it formed a triumphant grin: satisfaction coursing through his veins.

" _Farewell_."

He mouthed the word behind his mask as he rose, Servius and Albinus closely following. There was only one last matter to attend to for the Supreme Commander of the Armada, and he was in no particular rush to do so.

Upon entering Cadiz, and the Royal Guards each returning to their own individual patrols, the Emperor pivoted sharply on his heels, facing both of the snipers as well as Octavius Caesarus: the _Capo Comandante_ stiffening when Ulysses' gaze moved over him.

"I want my flagship to be prepared for departure, inform all the other elites it is now time to claim the golden city of El Dorado."

"It shall be done immediately, Commander."

Octavius disappeared down a different hallway, Ulysses turning his attention to the twin snipers standing side by side, but only for a brief moment before resuming his steady steps toward the heavily guarded chamber containing the six map pieces leading to the golden city. By now triumph had faded into pain, doubly so because while it was true that the Templar was _dead_ , how would this solve _anything_ that had already happened?

Halfway there, Ulysses nearly collapsed, and he had to lean against the wall to steady himself.

Out of the sight of his soldiers under his command, even the Praetorians created by himself by the blueprints he wrote himself, pain speared into his heart with a sharpness even worse than daggers. It was enough to draw out the tears pushing at the corners of his eyes, trickling down his cheeks behind the mask he wore.

His voice choked in his throat, the lump within his chest only _expanding_.

"I…should have done this earlier, shouldn't I?"

Ulysses was forced to pluck away the mask to clean away the tears from its interior, as well as from his own thin face. He could _not_ even meet the eyes of his creations, and he _flinched_ when a thin hand laid itself upon his shoulder and squeezed gently: he did not need to look to know who it was.

" _Creatore_ …perhaps this is not the best time, but we should prepare as well."

Servius' hand did not leave his shoulder when the Emperor pivoted around, their height permitting him to look almost directly into their "eyes."

"Very well."

It truly was fortunate for him that he had regained control of his voice, and his composure as well and continuing down the hallway until they stopped before the double doors leading into the map chamber.

Like before, it heeded to his touch and swung open.

Ulysses walked forward with a mechanical stride he only registered with half a mind. All that mattered was how the ring on his finger now seemed to glow with each step toward the map case. It pulsated in the same way the Apple of Eden would, only that the light grew _brighter_ with each step, until it was at last almost unbearable to look at directly.

The resulting flash when he had opened the case temporarily blinded him, and he had to blink away the yellow spots in his field of vision before he could recognize the holographic image projected from the ring itself, and from the torn pieces of the El Dorado map.

" _The Golden City of the Ancient Ones_."

El Dorado could not have been properly described by the words known by a human, nor was it even the slightest bit like any of the other cities in the entire Spiral.

Pyramids and towers dotted the landscape, with marble hewn walkways spanning the gaps between the structures. Compared to those massive structures built of who knows what, the figures of beings scrambling either on the walkways or on the ground seemed almost insignificant.

Although it would perhaps be wrong to call them simply _beings_ who had once inhabited the Golden City. Few would recognize it, although Ulysses himself certainly knew who they are, for there was no other race in the Spiral with the ability to have so fair an appearance that if any gods or goddesses of beauty would have hid their faces in shame. Some would have called this fair race the immortal gods, with their flowing raiments and seemingly supernatural glow around their frames.

But the Supreme Commander knew of them as the _First Civilization_ , his gaze turning from the image to the golden artifact he did not knew when he had produced from within his coat pocket.

" _Follow in the steps of the map and what is of the Golden City will be yours to take, yours to possess and use._ "

Ulysses blinked when the holographic image disappeared, sharply drawing in a breath he did not know he had been holding. Then it was as though he was but a spectator in his own body, his legs carrying him to the only window in the room - a small opening protected by glass at least an inch thick - and there was no mistaking what was outside, churning in a corner of the skyways of Valencia with golden energy lashing out and about it in a fashion not so different from whirlpools sometimes generated by storms in Valencia.

Everything from that point on became a blur, that is, until the Emperor of the Spiral stood on the deck of the _Malevolence_ , Aetius Varius Septimus lingering no more than three feet behind him -

This was supposed to be his moment of greatest triumph, _supposed_ to be - !

His head throbbed in pain, and the _voices_ filled his hearing, drowning out all other sounds mercilessly, all other images before him. There was nothing else he could focus on save for those _wretched_ voices:

" _How is this your triumph when it's a success that had been paved with the deaths of everyone you were supposed to protect? And was it not Kane who started it all, with you yourself simply picking up from where he had left off?_ "

" _Atticus Mercilus is dead but will this bring Quintia Presidos back? Will it undo all that has happened in the past which could have been avoided, had it not been for your own failures to keep it from happening in the first place?_ "

" _A failure you are and a failure you will be eternally...!_ "

Ulysses was gasping, gasping and choking for air as if he was a drowned man, even when the voices faded the second his ship had steered its way through the portal. Perhaps the golden city was no more than just a few paces away, however -

The voices were replaced by the visions, and even the landing of the ship could not wipe it from before his eyes until it deemed it was done.

The Supreme Commander could see it all unfold before his eyes.

Blood ran along the streets of the once fair golden city, cannons fired what seemed to be bolts of fire and lightning at each other while humans battled humans, beings of the First Civilization spilling the blood of their once brothers and sisters. All of this would only continue and never stop until there was not one living being left alive in the city, the point from which he was abruptly and suddenly dropped back into the present.

It seemed though an eternity had passed, while it was but a few seconds.

Although all of this was quickly forgotten as his gaze now landed on the ruins of the golden city - the ruins of a civilization long gone.

* * *

 **Two more chapters until the end of this story! Anyhow, no Ulysses is not dead, he's still alive and kicking, to answer the guest review ;) what shall come next? Check back next week and you shall know.  
**

 **Read and review! :D**

 **-Hades**


	38. Chapter 38

From the very moment he stepped onto the ship, Aetius Varius had felt a nagging sort of sensation within his core. He could not identify the cause of it, not even when Ulysses had stiffened up in that _telltale_ way he had learned to recognize.

So here he stood, dark azure robes fluttering in the light breeze, a hand upon his sword sitting at his hip; ordered to watch over the deck of the _Malevolence_ while the Supreme Commander went to claim the Golden City for the Armada.

Aetius cast his gaze outward into the ruined city, leaning against the railings of the Armada flagship. It was not too difficult to imagine the former glory of this legendary city, even with the broken paths linking the pyramids and the vegetation that had overtaken the towers, greenery creeping up the sides of the once majestic pyramids and snaking into the cracks in the once polished marble.

Had he possessed the eyes of a human, the Assassin would have permitted himself that moment to take it all in. It was impossible to explain, although he could feel a sense of _connection_ to the ruins. Anything to keep his mind off of his heightened sense of alertness, of something wrong and something he needed to address with immediate urgency.

The assassin's right hand rested against the spot where his flesh had been pierced by the blade of the traitor clockwork Argentius. With the effort of Bishop, it had already healed to nothing more than a scar of bronzed over flesh, yet another in his quickly growing collection.

Aetius straightened himself, sharply pivoting on his heels so that he now faced the few other clockworks left behind with him: boots clanking with every step he took as he paced around the ship. His fingers had clenched tightly around the hilt of his schiavona sword, and his lips thinned into a line underneath his hood.

Being a clockwork, his memory was _impeccable_ , every detail recorded. So inevitably, he remembered how Argentius had slipped through his fingers. It sent a fire through his circuitry, and it burned in his processor, occupying his lines of thought. By this point he had learned to name a majority of the emotions he was naturally capable of, from anger down to hatred and loyalty.

And it was hatred that consumed him now.

It was hatred which exploded into a thousand destructive fragments when the two figures from not too long before burst from beneath the deck of the _Malevolence_ , one dashing toward the gangplank and the Golden City, the other _attempting_ until a line of marines had formed a barrier between him and his escape.

Amethyst eyes darted frantically from the row of clockworks to Aetius himself, Argentius Domitius Septimus' panicked hyperventilating audible even from where he stood on the deck.

Aetius took his time, sauntering towards the _traitor_ with his sword drawn and at the ready. He would remedy his mistake now, by removing him from existence so he could no longer possess a threat to his creator's already dwindling health: the others could deal with the swashbuckler Adrian Devereaux.

"Argentius Domitius Septimus."

Argentius whirled around, fumbling for his personal blade from its scabbard at his side. The Assassin's lips almost twitched up into a smile at the spectacle: it was all too clear just how _afraid_ he was.

In spite of this, though, his reaction time had not been slowed in any way: once more, showers of sparks flew between blades when they clashed, the momentum enough to throw Argentius off balance, staggering back until he regained his footing. Aetius did not bother waiting for him, however, dashing forward and slashing at his torso. There was no need to be _honorable_ with a traitor.

Argentius let out a pained cry, his hand clamping over the wound ripped through his uniform and skin, leaving behind a deep gash, blood spilling from it profusely. Varius - he did not know _why_ \- sheathed his blade and found himself advancing upon him in a way which he only subconsciously noticed was all too similar to how a predator would, upon their wounded prey.

"The Supreme Commander had spared you, and yet you turned against him."

Amethyst eyes stared pleadingly back into the voids in his face, in place of his eyes. It was just all too _pathetic_ , imperfect, and to think his own _creator_ was obsessed with him in the first place, that _he_ was part of the reason why Ulysses' mental stability was eroding away bit by bit each day. It kindled the flames of hatred within him _evermore_.

Had Aetius possessed human eyes, they would have narrowed beneath the shadow of his hood out of the poisonous emotion known as _hatred_. Argentius' very existence was a _mistake_ and a threat to the Supreme Commander. And as the Supreme Commander's soldier, it was Aetius' duty to ensure all such threats were properly taken care of.

Aeitus tightened the fingers of his left hand around his throat until the amethyst eyed clockwork was gasping for the much needed oxygen his system was screaming for, fingers clawing feebly at the hand of the assassin to no avail.

"For the crime of treason against the Armada, as the successor of the Supreme Commander, I, Aetius Varius Septimus, hereby sentence you to death."

One twitch of his wrist had forced the Hidden Blade out of its chamber within his right hand gauntlet, its razor sharp tip burying into the delicate flesh of Argentius' throat up to the very hilt, the steel stained an eerie shade of scarlet.

He could not feel Argentius' blood spilling onto his hand, yet his leather glove was stained a definite shade of crimson. Argentius gagged, blood spilling through Aetius' fingers as the traitor's frame sagged to the floor of the deck, violent tremors running through his form which slowly died down when the flow of blood was far too copious for his hand to stop.

The clockwork's deactivated frame had hit the deck of the _Malevolence_ soon after, blood pooling from the gaping wound opened in the side of his throat by Aetius Varius' hidden blade; the weapon sliding back into its housing with another twitch of his wrist. His death seemed to have lifted the weight which had lingered from the second that Aetius had sworn to eliminate the traitor.

It was _relieving_ , yes, that was the correct human word for it.

"Dispose of his frame, ensure there are no traces left behind."

He would have to return sometime to wash the blood off of his hidden blade later, although it was only a fleeting thought until Aetius was certain the other clockworks aboard the ship had tossed the traitor's bloodied frame overboard, into the dark lower depths of the spiral. Aetius could not prevent himself from wincing upon the sight of the blood, and even more from the thought of what were to happen if _Ulysses_ was to find out about this.

The clockwork Assassin cast his gaze toward the ruins, metal planks creaking beneath his boots as he walked back toward the _Malevolence_ 's port side. Briefly, he wondered just what else could be happening at this moment in the ruins, for it was completely impossible to see or hear anything of the troops that had went with the Supreme Commander.

"Servius, Albinus, retain position on the ship."

Aetius climbed onto the railing.

"I shall ensure the safety of the Supreme Commander."

There was no need for him to look back once he jumped away from the ship and into the ruins. The other clockworks would fare perfectly well with him gone, he was certain of this.

Tracking down the Supreme Commander's presence was not too difficult, not with the legion of clockworks trailing him and the glow of the Apple, the brilliant glow which seemed nearly brighter than the sun itself.

Aeitus had half expected for Ulysses to snap at him for disregarding his commands, but the Emperor said nothing even after glancing in his general direction, his attention far too focused on the still surprisingly intact stone door of the pyramid before them.

Aetius glanced around the area: Adrian was nowhere in sight, although that did not necessarily mean he was not _here_ somewhere. Perhaps not in close proximity, for one of the clockworks would have sounded the alarm: although it would indeed be quite a sight to watch the fool deliver himself right into the hands of the clockworks under the command of Ulysses -

The glow from the Apple narrowed into three beams of light, each focusing on a singular point until they formed a triangle upon the stone doors. Dust flew into the air, stone scratching against stone while the door lowered, opening wide and revealing the path leading down into the very heart of the once glorious ruins.

The path to the complete domination of the Spiral.

* * *

 **And so ends Argentius Domitius Septimus. I truly do pity him at times, though being a traitor of the Armada never ends well for anyone involved.**

 **There shall be one more chapter remaining until Valencian Empire officially concludes (sighs) it's so hard to believe that I only started this series like two years or so ago and now it's grown to this size.**

 **However, some announcements: after this concludes, I will be taking a break from working with Ulysses' epic saga (but that does not mean forever, of course) to work on some other writings, such as a one shot dump which will fill in the gaps in the timeline of VL/VE (there will also be a few noncanon one shots included, but those will be clearly marked to differentiate between canon and noncanon) and likely a Dishonored fanfic as well, but that is still TBD. I will not, rest assured, abandon this three book series, and I will return to working on it in the future to put up _Valencian Assassin: Maestro Assassino_.**

 **Read and review :D until next time!**

 **-Hades**


	39. Chapter 39

"Remain outside until further orders."

Ulysses felt it again, as clearly as he had ever felt anything in his life - the familiar tug within his very being, the call of the First Civilization. If the call of the Apple was something he could not resist, this was even _stronger_ and undoubtedly so: his legs moved mechanically, carrying him down the once polished marble steps into the central chamber.

Just as it was outside, the interior of the chambers had not been spared from the might of nature, with green vines creeping up the walls and out of the crevices. Every nook and cranny in the chamber was either occupied by copious amounts of greenery or by rubble.

The Supreme Commander's steps stopped before the center of the chamber, at the base of the flight of stairs leading up to a raised platform. A beam of sunlight shone down from a square opening set into the pyramid's top, the light just enough to illuminate the entirety of the way up the steps and the empty dias. His boots kicked up thick clouds of dust with each step up.

 _It is all an illusion, there is no way one of the First Beings would leave powerful artifacts unguarded_.

Ulysses knelt, his gloved fingers tracing along the circular dias top, over the symbols carved into the stone. It was as though they knew his touch, as he had expected, the symbols glowed brilliantly, stone creaking again until an indentation appeared in the center of it: the Apple of Eden fitting perfectly within it.

Slowly, surely, Ulysses drew in several long breaths. Something had magnified the power of the Apple, something within this Temple he could not name but could _feel_ it tugging at the very core strings of his being. No human words would have done justice to how this was like, for in several seconds, the Supreme Commander of the Armada _bathed_ in the newfound strength pulsating through his veins.

He might as well have _shaken_ the Spiral down to its very core with this.

Septimus' lips curved upward, more and more so until his mouth had stretched into a wide grin beneath the mask he wore. He could not take his eyes off of the silver staff which had been revealed when the hidden compartment's cover slipped away. For something made of seemingly metal in its entirety, the staff was surprisingly light -

About eight feet tall in length, crafted with some sort of otherworldly precision, symbols inscribed down the staff briefly shone with an ethereal light when the Apple of Eden was retrieved and set into the cradle atop.

"Now, nothing shall stand in my way…!"

There was little doubt that this was the ancient power within the ruins, the power which so many had _coveted_ and was now all his to command to his whim and will. It was almost morbidly laughable how so many had fought to just gain the pieces of the map that would lead into El Dorado, and yet this power was now _his_.

"Not unless I stop you first!"

The Emperor of the Spiral spun sharply on his heel.

Oh how _interesting_ it always was, to watch a pathetic insect by the likes of Adrian Devereaux believing that they had the strength needed to turn the tide of a battle that they were destined to lose.

"Bravo, _messere_ , such spirited words, but you have no idea of the powers you are trifling with."

Plucking his mask from his face and laying it on the pedestal the Apple sat upon - Ulysses wanted to _look_ right into the eyes of this worm when he _extinguished_ the light in his eyes - the Emperor thrust out the staff, the resulting bolt of blue fire _easily_ blowing a hole in the area where the swashbuckler had been standing merely seconds before.

The sweet _euphoria_ of power coursing through his veins nearly succeeded in drowning out the memories which returned with seeing this _worm_ of a man, visions of his dear rose, his _defenseless_ love.

"What are you, Ulysses? What have you became?! Has the hand of Kane become this strong within you?"

Adrian's voice trembled, and it did not take the heightened hearing of a clockwork to hear how his heart was _racing_ , how fear coursed through his being and turned the blood in his veins into ice. And he _savored_ it, Ulysses savored the fear he could sense from his foe with each blast of fire he threw at him with the staff.

"I am his appointed king, I am the Lord of the Valencian Empire, I am the Emperor of the Spiral!"

Rocks shattered by the energy blasts had thrown up clouds of dust into the chamber, but even through that Ulysses could see Adrian's attempt to run up to the dias where he now stood. Even if he had been a tool to the Grand Master Templar Atticus Mercilus, Ulysses still could _not_ bring himself to in even the slightest sense to _forgive_ this criminal.

"That's right, messere, keep walking this way...!"

In his mind, Ulysses heard himself laugh, dry and airy as he firmly planted the staff into a crack in the stone of the dias. His laugh resonated through the Temple in a eerie reenactment of the night when he had ordered Skull Island to be completely and absolutely destroyed, bouncing off of the rocks and amplifying the sound of his sword being drawn from its sheath.

"Will you face me like the great warrior you claim you are, Devereaux, or will you run and hide behind another temporary ally?"

Adrian only had a long dagger on him, and Ulysses could only laugh at how _pathetic_ his bladework was when he lashed out at him: the momentum throwing his form back until he collided painfully with the floor of the Temple. He could take this moment to _play_ with his prey, yes, in the fashion of a true hunter.

"I will end you, you tyrant, and I will be remembered as the greatest hero of the Spiral!"

The swashbuckler's desperate battle cry was in nowhere close to the power held by Ulysses' own spoken words. It prompted naught but a little smile to work its way onto the Emperor's lips. The mere thought of this _worm_ and coward as the savior, the beacon of so - called _hope_ by the Resistance was laughable.

"You? You are nothing but a coward who ran away from all of his responsibilities, and a fool who could do nothing but hide behind the shields of your allies and run when all goes awry!"

Ulysses' entire frame trembled with the force of the laugh which followed his words.

"Tell me a better joke than _this_ , Devereaux..!"

He _lunged_ at the swashbuckler, the sting of Devereaux's dagger digging into his upper arm only a momentary flash of pain which faded swiftly when his fingers clamped down on his throat. Ulysses' vision swam, and he could hear the sound of his own heart pounding against his chest, he could _feel_ the way his lips curved into a wide smile every time the pirate twitched.

Adrian Devereaux choked, sputtering as his face purpled from the lack of oxygen, clawing at the Supreme Commander's wrists.

Ulysses laughed at this, he laughed until his breaths fell short and his ribs ached and his muscles strained.

 _OH, SWEET, SWEET REVENGE!_

"Where did all of your _courage_ go, Devereaux? Did you not boast that you were the greatest, the chosen one of the pirates?!"

His words echoed off of the walls, and Ulysses could not _feel it_ when Adrian finally managed to throw him off, his hip colliding rather painfully with a rock which jutted out of the Temple's floor.

The Emperor of the Spiral leapt up, Hidden Blades extended and just in time to block off the dagger lashing toward his face: blades locking just long enough for Ulysses to kick the pirate squarely in his chest, sending him flying off toward the wall, his body colliding with a dull _crack_ that resonated throughout the entire chamber.

"Come on, stand, stand and prove your worth! Or are you the worthless insect I have always thought of you as?"

Adrian wiped away a trickle of blood from the corner of his lips, his eyes darting from the figure of the Supreme Commander towards the stairs leading up to the only exit from the chamber. Ulysses' lips only widened into a ear to ear grin: the thing deep inside of him baring its fangs, licking its lips in anticipation for what was soon to come.

"There is nowhere for you to run, Adrian, perhaps you could _attempt_ it, but where would you go? My soldiers are right outside, I could order you killed right here and now like the inglorious fool you have made yourself out to be."

Ulysses sheathed his hidden blades, the weapons clicking back into their housings within his sleeves. There was no need for any weapon other than than his bare hands, he was _certain_ of it.

All but _pouncing_ on his foe with a sound Septimus only recognized several seconds later as an unearthly, almost _banshee_ _\- like_ screech, blood was splattered into the air with each blow he dealt to the swashbuckler, blow after blow, strike after strike. It was addicting, to say the very least, the sensation of bone shattering beneath his fists, until Devereaux managed to pull a leg free and kick him right in his lower abdomen.

The impact from the blow was enough to knock Ulysses backward, his form colliding with the steps leading up to the dias hard enough to make his vision swim for several seconds.

"You call me a inglorious fool when you act as though nothing can topple you? Who's the fool here?!"

"Oh, how _funny_!"

Ulysses snarled, rising to his full height.

"The joke's running thin, Devereaux."

One swift kick was all that it took to launch himself up into the air, backflipping once until he landed on the dias once again. The look of fear on the pirate's face only made Ulysses grin even more so, his hands moving of their own accord rather than his own: lifting the staff high above his head then bringing it down onto the floor in a sharp, thunderous sound.

Tendrils of golden light extended as though they were serpents, wrapping around the pirate's limbs.

"Supreme Commander!"

Servius' voice shook him out of his almost _trance_ \- _like_ state, head snapping toward his direction although his hands had not yet relented their grip on the staff of Eden within his grip.

"I assure you, I have not been harmed."

Perhaps that was true, Ulysses _felt_ the impact of Adrian's blows, each of the hits and the bruises left on his flesh. They _throbbed_ in pain, and Septimus involuntarily winced when he brushed against a tender area in the right side of his ribcage.

"Are you certain of it...?"

"All that matters is that the city of El Dorado is the property of the Armada, and that this _fool_ \- "Ulysses used the staff to gesture to Devereaux's trapped form. " - has delivered himself right into our hands. Put him in chains and take him back to Valencia, he has escaped his due punishment for all too long."

The Supreme Commander brought his free hand up in a mock salute as the pirate, the _last_ of them all, was placed in chains by the hands of Aetius, Servius, and Albinus. Even if the worm of a man had a retort hanging on his tongue, Sentus Optimus ensured it would never sound by winding a length of chain around his mouth.

For a brief second, the marine's eyes met his, and though Optimus did not speak, Ulysses noted, but his eyes still spoke for him. There was absolutely _no_ emotion in those eyes, not even hatred or anger. Instead, there was only the same sort of vacancy one may have expected to find in an actual clockwork, that is, if they had _eyes_.

Ulysses cast one last glance at the ruins of the golden city as he boarded his flagship, Staff of Eden in hand and with the Apple still attached to it, his mask attached to the mechanism on his belt. Perhaps it was only his mind playing some sort of trick on him, but it seemed that Golden City was that much emptier, more of a ruin, now that its power had been claimed by the Armada.

He pivoted around on his heels, resting his weight against the railings of the _Malevolence_.

Sentus Optimus' gaze met his, the marine only just emerging from the depths of the ship's brigs.

"How long until we reach Valencia, Captain Optimus?"

"A little less than an hour, Supreme Commander."

Briefly, Ulysses mused over _how much_ he could do within this span of time. Torture was an art, unlike murdering. It took very little skill to slip a blade between the ribs of a man, but to draw out their screams and relish in their pain all while ensuring the prisoner was _alive_ , it required the utmost _skill_. And skill was what he had in plenty.

There was no need to carry the Staff, hence Ulysses made sure to leave it within the confines of his cabin before heading down the steel steps.

Devereaux's cell was located at the very back of the brigs of the _Malevolence_ , with two marines flanking the door: both snapping into a salute at his presence.

"Supreme Commander."

"Open the cell door, I wish to speak with the prisoner."

Devereaux was unchained, but he doubted the pirate had anything within him to continue fighting. Ulysses' lips twitched up into a smirk, nudging the door closed behind him with one boot.

"Adrian Vries Devereaux, we meet again. Remember how high and mighty you made yourself out to be? How you left behind your _friend_ Wolf Hawkins, thinking he would distract us, in order that you might escape?"

Ulysses clasped his hands behind his back, stepping forwards and backing the swashbuckler further into the corner. By this point, his fear was _palpable_ in the air, as he had lost the will or the courage to fight, even when the Emperor clamped his hand over his throat. Oh how he would _relish_ snapping his neck, this _instrument_ responsible for snatching his _king_ from him.

".. _a mad tyrant-!"_

Adrian sputtered, gasping for air when he was thrown, _flung_ sideways, his head colliding loudly and rather painfully against the side of the cell. Ulysses crossed the cell in but a few strides, noting the bruise that was already forming on his forehead from the force of the impact.

"A mad tyrant? Do you curse the _monster_ you have made yourself, _messere_?"

The Emperor firmly planted a boot on his chest, pressing down until he was certain that he had snapped several of the pirate's ribs, drawing a cry of agony from Devereaux as he tried and failed to throw him off. Each of those sounds sent _shivers_ up his spine, those shivers that never failed to please the monster deep inside of him, the thing within his mind that purred in satisfaction with each blow dealt.

"Ulysses Septimus…y-you are _mad!_ One day... someone will dispose the Spiral of your filth!"

He should be _angered_ , his mind remembered with what he could only name as _amusement_ , enraged by the words of this pathetic worm, and he should have sliced his tongue out of his mouth for _daring_ to speak against the Emperor of the Spiral, the very figure holding the fate of all known worlds within the palm of his hand.

But he did not.

Septimus only laughed, his frame rattling with the sound. Ironically, he would actually have to say he _agreed_ with the swashbuckler's words: he certainly was _mad_ , insane, even though it was not _his_ fault. It was what Adrian himself had done, the seeds he had sown and would now be forced to reap, him and Atticus Mercilus both.

"I won't deny that I am…mad, Devereaux, but can you truly blame _me_ for who I have become?"

Ulysses spread his palms by his side.

"You and Mercilus have taken everyone that I held dear, all that I have ever treasured, and dashed them into one thousand pieces before my eyes! _YOU MADE ME A MONSTER!"_

There was no controlling his rage at this point.

"I could have spared you, I could have, I could have…you see, the Lord Kane himself had offered to all who were willing to leave the path of piracy amnesty, something which I agreed entirely upon, for we could avoid more needless slaughter. And what did you do? You went and _murdered_ him!"

He threw Adrian against the back of the cell, and the younger man shrunk back with a whimper of terror when the Emperor advanced.

"I was his...puppet - "

His breathing was frantic, chest heaving up and down with each syllable as they poured forth without his control.

"He was…m _y master_ …the one who held me together…"

Ulysses' gloved hands went to his own torso, as though to show the strings, the puppet strings that had once been there but were now _severed_ , severed and fraying just like the rest of his mind.

"And he's gone...GONE!"

His own shriek echoed throughout the cell. Vaguely, Ulysses sensed the two marines stationed before the doors glance at him, even if it was only a temporary action that could not have lasted for more than a second until they turned back around, motionless as they were supposed to be.

"My Lord…my King…my _God_ …dead!"

The Emperor found himself laughing again, or was he screaming? It was nigh impossible to differentiate.

"So could you…blame me?"

Whatever answer the pirate would have given would never be heard, not when the familiar jolt of landing went through the entirety of the _Malevolence_ , the voice of marine Captain Sentus Optimus slashing through the fog enough for Ulysses' head to snap right back up.

"We have reached Valencia, Supreme Commander, it would be advised that you are present for disembarking."

"I will be there in a minute."

Without looking back at his lieutenant, the Supreme Commander's lips twitched up into yet another grin. How he would _relish_ in this worm's fear as he _personally_ saw to the administration of his due punishment.

"Enjoy the remainder of your time in this life, Devereaux - you won't have much more of it."

Each step felt as though there were springs beneath his feet, nearly wobbling rather dangerously while he made his way up the stairs.

Clockworks lined in perfect rows on the deck of the _Malevolence_ , with his creations standing at the front and his lieutenant just by the side of the gangplank. Their eyes were trained on him, each one of them, awaiting his command to proceed.

"Escort the prisoner to the mausoleum, then return to your posts. I shall deal with him _personally_."

The walk through the streets of Cadiz was uneventful, aside from how the crowds gasped and some turned away from the sight of their battered _prisoner_ being pushed and dragged along roughly by the Armada marines. Ulysses could _feel_ some of the Valencians drop their gaze away from his figure, walking before the rows of clockworks, head held high and mask obscuring his face.

Be it reverence or _hatred_ at the sight of him, he did _not_ care.

The Supreme Commander of the Armada dug his heels into the ground when he came upon their targeted location.

He remembered, vividly, the day this great mausoleum was built, out of great slabs of the purest white marble and carved by some of the most skilled of the Assassin Order in the style of the older buildings of Valencia: golden roses within the cogwheel of the Armada decorating each of the double doors and padlocked with a key Ulysses kept with himself.

Ulysses' smile dropped behind his mask, and for a brief second it was almost impossible to keep his hand from reaching toward his own torso, towards his heart. Those _voices_ were quick to return at this, reminding him, cackling in his ear of the memories of that night -

Of Kane's terminated, _bloodied_ frame within his arms, blood pouring from his golden painted lips and out of the _hole_ dug into his chest from Adrian Devereaux's dagger -

Shaking himself out of the trance, Ulysses pressed the key disk into the carved slot and turned: hidden mechanisms creaking, double doors swinging open.

"Remain here."

And that was it, here he was dragging the pirate down the stairs by the scruff of his collar, through the double doors until they stepped into a chamber illuminated only by a electric light in the ceiling and some barely burning tinders of flames in their brackets. But even with this there was no denying that this entire building was a work of art.

Nothing else furnished the room save for a burning alter before the raised platform, bearing the marble sarcophagus of the first Supreme Commander: a great casket of marble and gold, carved with the cogwheel mark of the Imperial Valencian Armada.

"Three long years I have fought, and all will end here now."

He was not so certain as to whom he meant for this to address, as he knelt before the great sarcophagus and pressed his forehead into the cold marble floor.

"I am here, as how I have sworn, my master and king."

Ulysses' final words choked up in his throat, and they burned as though coals were being shoved into his throat. Tears brimmed within his eyes, spilling onto the marble floor then down his cheek when he finally stood. He was going to avenge him, yes, but much like it had been with Quintia Presidos' death, it would ultimately fix _nothing_ in the end. It would not bring him back, it would not patch together his shattered psyche.

Mechanically, he reached toward his waist, fingers wrapping around the hilt of his dagger.

Tears still trickled down his face, dripping into his cravat even when he tangled his long, slender fingers in the pirate's hair and pulled back, yanking a pained yelp from Adrian's throat as his eyes widened in fear.

What happened next seemed to be, like so many times before, in slow motion.

The Emperor watched his own hand plunging his blade into Devereaux's chest, pushing it in until it was up to the hilt and then yanking _down_ , hard. Adrian Devereaux's scream was but one sound in the muffling background noise, of the hum within his ear when he finally withdrew the blade.

Ulysses dug his fingers into the wound, twisting and turning until his entire _hand_ was buried within his chest cavity. Adrian's screams only _increased_ in volume, escalating until they died to a gurgle, blood pouring from his lips until Ulysses' fingers released him.

"And so the _chosen one_ of the Resistance is no more."

Ulysses chuckled, his gaze now returning to the bloody heart held in his right hand. The organ which looked so similar to the mechanism he had placed within the chest of Aetius Varius Septimus, except it was all made of _flesh_ , of flesh and of blood which was no longer flowing.

Dropping the heart of the last pirate into the alter, Ulysses' eyes closed, sensing a weight lifted off his chest as the organ was slowly consumed by the licks of blue flame.

 _So ends the reign of the pirates, of the Templars_.

This time, he did not cast a second look back as he walked out of the mausoleum - its doors slamming shut behind him - and up the steps, now back amongst his troops.

Now would begin _his_ era - as Emperor of the Spiral, as the ruler of the Valencian Empire.

 **FIN.**

* * *

 **The finale to _Valencian Empire_ , and the end of Adrian Devereaux. But what of the fates of the living characters of the cast? I am, actually, considering to write a follow up saga to this, with the clockwork Assassin Aetius Varius Septimus, but until I have that decided, the fates of the characters will be up for you to speculate ;). **

**Following up to the note in my previous chapter, sometimes this month I _might_ start posting a one shot dump which will fill in the gaps in the VL/VE storyline, so stay tuned!**

 **Read and review! Until next time :D**

 **-Hades**


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